Under Her Skin

Under Her Skin Top PACK IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING GRACE OF SMALL MAGICS

99 UNDER HER SKIN Published by Ilona Andrews, Inc at Smashwords. "Pack" was first published in THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF PARANORMAL ROMANCE, by Running Book Press. "Pack" copyright © 2009 by Jeaniene Frost "In Sheep’s Clothing" was first published in THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF PARANORMAL ROMANCE, by Running Book Press. "In Sheep’s Clothing" copyright © 2009 by Meljean Brook "Grace of Small Magics" was first published in THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF PARANORMAL ROMANCE, by Running Book Press. "Grace of Small Magics" copyright © 2009 by Gordon and Ilona Andrews

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Contents PACK Jeaniene Frost

IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING Meljean Brook

GRACE OF SMALL MAGICS Ilona Andrews

PACK Jeaniene Frost

Chapter One I knew I was being hunted before I heard the growl. First there had been flashes of gray and black in the trees around me, too fast for me to make out. Then crackling of dried leaves and twigs as those forms came nearer. And that primal, icy feeling on the back of my neck that told me I'd just moved from top of the food chain to prey. No one was around to help me, either. This was Yellowstone National Park, one of the last great American wildernesses. I hadn't seen another soul since my friends Brandy and Tom abandoned the hike three days ago, and I'd been lost for two days now. A wave of fear rolled over me, making my stomach clench in a nauseating way. Whatever had growled, it wasn't alone. New growls emerged from behind the trees—low, guttural, and more menacing than a mugger in a dark alley. I flicked my gaze around, trying to hone in on the source, while I drew my backpack off my shoulders. I had a gun in there which I'd brought along in what I'd thought was overthe-top paranoia. Now I wished I'd brought an Uzi and some grenades, too. I had the backpack on the ground and was pulling the gun out when the animal struck. It came at me with incredible speed, plowing right into me and knocking me over. Instinctively, I scrambled back, holding my hands out in defense and convinced I'd feel teeth tearing into me at any moment. The wolf – God, it was a huge wolf! – didn't lunge for my throat, though. It stood a few feet away, mouth open in what seemed to me to be a sick caricature of a grin, with my gun on the ground between its paws. I'd dropped the gun. How could I have been so stupid as to drop the gun? That thought raced through my mind, followed by a slew of if onlys. If only I hadn't gone on this camping trip. If only Brandy hadn't twisted her ankle, forcing her and Tom to leave early. If only I hadn't been so determined to continue the hike alone. If only the map hadn't gotten ruined. If only I'd had a satellite phone, instead of my useless, out-of-area cellular. And if only I hadn't dropped the goddamn gun when an enormous wolf charged me. That would probably be the last regret I ever had. Twigs snapped behind me. My head jerked back while I still tried to keep an eye on the wolf in front of me. Five more wolves cleared the trees, running around me with an easy, deadly grace. I started to scoot back more, but there was nowhere to go. My heart was pounding while my breath came in strange, jagged gasps.

You're lost out in the middle of nowhere, and these wolves are going to eat you. Oh God, no, please. I don't want to die… Only four days ago, I'd been laughing with my friends about how great it was to be outdoors, instead of trapped inside our stuffy offices. This was the vacation I'd been waiting years to take. How could this be happening? One of the circling wolves broke from the ranks and charged me. I flung up my hands in useless defense when the huge gray wolf let out a growl that sounded like a word. "Mine." I gasped. That wolf did not just speak! But its yellow eyes gleamed with a savage intelligence and another rumbling, coherent growl came out of its throat. "You. Dieee." I abandoned all logic to scramble to my feet, running as fast as I could even while knowing it was futile. Scalding pain in my ankle had me stumbling, but I didn't stop. I lurched on, heart hammering and tears blurring my vision. Around me, the wolves gleefully yipped as they kept pace. More pain seared my leg. I fell, panic urging me to get up even though both my legs felt like they were on fire. I tried to run again, but my left ankle buckled. The wolves' cries became more excited. They darted in, nipping me and drawing blood before bounding back and ducking out of the way of my wild punches. I couldn't run anymore, but I staggered forward, looking for anything that would help me. Maybe I could climb a tree. Maybe I could find a heavy branch to use as a weapon. It's too late for that, Marlee, said an insidious voice in my head. Just give up. It'll be over soon. The enormous gray wolf suddenly jumped in front of me. Its mouth was open, fangs gleaming in the late afternoon light. It let out a howl that stopped the other wolves in their tracks. Then they joined in, filling the air with their victorious cries. The gray wolf became silent, coming closer while its companions continued their howls. I braced myself, images of my family and friends flashing in my mind. They'll never know what

happened to you. You'll just be another vanished hiker in the woods… Despite my overwhelming fear, anger also reared up in me. I looked at the gray wolf, only a foot away now. You might kill me, but I'm going

to hurt you before you do. When it lunged, I was ready. Its fangs sank into my right arm, which I'd thrown up to protect my throat. But even as I almost fainted at the agony of its teeth tearing my flesh, I didn't hesitate. My left thumb jammed into its eye, as deep as it could go. Something like a scream came out of the wolf. Or maybe I was screaming. Either way, it took a second for the next, new sound to register, but when it did, I felt a surge of hope. It was the loud, unmistakable boom of a gunshot. The gray wolf let go of me. I sagged back, clutching my torn arm to my chest. The wolf's right eye was bleeding and it was panting, but it didn't run. Neither did the other wolves. They crouched, staring over my shoulder, snarls coming from their throats. "Leave," the gray wolf said, garbled but intelligible. I'm hallucinating again, I thought. Maybe I've passed out. Maybe I'm being ripped to pieces right now. Something brushed by me. I recoiled when I saw it was several more wolves. With my good arm, I began flailing at them in a pathetic attempt to keep them away, but they ignored me. Their attention seemed fixed on the other, snarling wolves. When the naked man squatted down next to me, I knew I was hallucinating. I might have even let out a laugh. Maybe all of this was just a horrible dream, and I'd wake up safe in my tent.

"Are you all right?" the man asked, looking me over. Now I was sure I laughed, but it had an edge of hysteria to it. "Never better." I looked at his face – and gasped. His eyes were amber and slanted, just like the wolves' eyes, and the same wildness lurked in them.

God, please let this be a dream! The man stood. He had a gun pointed at the gray wolf. "You've gone too far, Gabriel," he said. "Hunting humans is forbidden. The pack will judge you for this." The wolf snarled. "They hunt us," it said. "They don't know better," the man replied. "We do. Either you come with us, or I shoot you with her gun." I was shaking my head from side to side, even though no one was paying attention to me anymore, it seemed. Talking wolves didn't exist. Muscular men didn't walk around naked in the forest, chatting with non-existent talking wolves. Why I couldn't I wake up? And what was that noise? It was getting louder, like a swarm of bees approaching. When the gray wolf sat down, shuddered, and its fur began disappearing into its body, I didn't even blink. I was concentrating more on finding the source of that buzzing noise. It was almost deafening now. The last thing I saw before the noise rose to a crescendo and my vision went black was the wolf's fur being replaced by skin…and the body of a naked man where the gray wolf had just been.

Chapter Two Pain tugged on my leg. My eyes opened with a rush of terror as my last memory came roaring back. The wolves. Attacking me. "No!" I screamed, trying to defend myself. Something big held me down. I was so panicked, it took me a moment to realize that it wasn't biting me or covered in fur. "You're all right, the doctor is just setting your ankle," said a deep voice. My head felt cottony, but I tried to shake that off. I was in a bed. An older blond woman was giving me a mildly irate look as she bent over my ankle. Someone held my upper body in an unyielding grip, and whoever it was didn't look like a nurse. "Let go of me." That grip didn't loosen. "Doc?" "You can let her go, Daniel," the blond woman said. In my next blink, I was free, staring around the room with its wood walls, rustic interior, and bloody bandages on the floor. Sure, I had healthcare, but unless medical standards had really dropped, this wasn't a hospital. It took a second for me to recognize the tall, russet-haired man by the bed. "You're the naked guy," I blurted. He wasn't naked now, wearing a pair of loose-fitting denim jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He smiled, but it looked strained. "You remember." Not all of it. I knew he'd stopped the wolves from attacking me, but I couldn't remember how, exactly. Or why he'd been naked in the woods in the first place. There was something about the wolves. Something really important that my groggy mind couldn't quite recall. "The wolves…" I began. "I need to finish this," the woman interrupted me. "Hold still. You'll feel some pressure." She certainly sounds like a doctor, I thought. Professional, uncaring, and using the word 'pressure' to describe what would probably hurt like hell. My premonition proved correct. A burning pain started in my ankle as she probed, muttering to herself while she shifted it a few times. "Where am I?" I asked, biting back a yelp. "Is this a Ranger station or something?" The man stared at me, his hazel eyes seeming to probe as much as the doctor's pitiless fingers. "What's your name?" "Marlee. Marlee Peters." "The sedative shouldn't have worn off this quickly," the woman remarked when I couldn't help but yank back as she manipulated my ankle in a direction it didn't want to go. "You know that, Daniel." "So give me another one," I said, clenching my teeth as the pain began to throb. 'Pressure', my ass! Daniel, as the doctor called him, let out a sigh. "Damn Gabriel," he muttered. Gabriel. The name conjured up an image of a huge gray wolf glaring at me, one eye bleeding. They hunt us, it had said. Then it started writhing on the ground, its fur disappearing… I tried to bolt out of bed, but Daniel had me pinned back before I'd even cleared the covers. "It's all right, Marlee," he said. "Like hell it is!" Whatever remains of the sedative they'd given me wore off in the flash of that memory. Run, my mind urged. From over his shoulder, I could see the blond woman sit back in disgust. "I can't work like this," she said. "Get Joshua," Daniel told her, still holding me to the bed. I screamed for help, which drowned out any reply the woman made. I kicked, too, even though that hurt my ankle like I'd set it on fire. Daniel went from holding me down to flattening me on the bed with his body. It was like a ton of bricks just landed on me. He even had his legs tangled in mine so I couldn't kick. I couldn't move, but I could keep screaming, which I did, long and loud. He winced. "Stop that. You're hurting my ears." His arms were pinning mine down, but his hands were loose near my face. He could have covered my mouth to shut me up, but he didn't. That meant he wasn't concerned about anyone overhearing, which meant there was no one near enough to help. I stopped screaming, trying another tactic. "Let me go. I'll leave and you'll never see me again." "Why were you in the woods alone, Marlee?" he asked. "That's not very safe." Considering my current situation, the absurdity of that statement made me laugh. "You don't say?"

He ignored that. "You remember what you saw. That's why you stink like fear now." "It wasn't real," I muttered. "I was tired, I'd been lost for days, and I panicked because of the attack –" "You know it's real," he cut me off. "Sorry, but you know, so we can't just let you go. Even if nothing comes of your bites." That froze me more than the two hundred pounds of muscle holding me down. I'd been bitten – several times, in fact. I'd seen the movies, knew enough of the folklore to know what happened to a person who'd been bitten by a… "This can't be real," I whispered. His gaze was grim. "It's as real as it gets."

*** I insisted on sitting in a chair to meet Joshua. Daniel stood next to me, his presence a silent threat that any attempts to leave would be quickly stopped. Still, when one met the leader of a pack of werewolves, one wanted not to be trapped under another werewolf in bed, right? Yeah, I thought so, too. Of course, I was also still thinking – hoping – that I'd just eaten some bad mushrooms along the trail and none of this was real. Be careful what you wish for, ran through my mind. I'd wished for years to go to Yellowstone. My ex-boyfriend Paul and I had planned this trip, down to the places we'd hike and where we'd camp. We were thrilled when my best friend Brandy and her boyfriend agreed to come. The more the merrier, right? But things changed. Paul moved to Manhattan, our relationship couldn't overcome the long-distance strain, and four months later, I ended up being a third wheel on this trip instead of it being a fun, couples' getaway. Add that to being overworked and underpaid as a paralegal, and my fervent wish for something new and exciting to come into my life. Looks like I got that wish, though it might come with a set of claws. I waited, missing my small cubicle at the office more than I'd ever missed anything. Ten minutes later, the blond doctor returned with a man in his late forties. He had edges of gray on his temples, but the rest of his hair was thick and auburn — the same color as Daniel's, actually. He also had a similar large, muscular build, albeit not quite as lean as Daniel's. He wore a tan jacket and vest over his collared shirt, with a pair of denim pants. In short, he looked like your typical Yellowstone tourist, not the leader of a secret pack of monsters. "I'm Joshua," he introduced himself, holding out a hand. At a loss over what else to do, I shook it. Part of me wanted to run screaming out the door, and the other part wanted to burst into tears. Surprisingly, this myriad of emotions left me feeling slightly numb, like I was running on auto-pilot. "Marlee." Joshua sat on the edge of the bed. His posture was casual, but there was nothing relaxed in his gaze. He looked me over as if I were a potentially-contagious virus. I fought not to hold my breath. "What happened yesterday was very unfortunate," Joshua began. "Yesterday?" I couldn't help but exclaim, glancing at the window. It was nearly dusk. I'd thought it was the same day as the attack. "Yesterday," Joshua repeated, giving me a frown that said he wasn't used to being interrupted. "A member of our pack was…distraught over his wife's death. He and a few others began hunting you. You were lucky Daniel found them when he did, but you'd been bitten, so we couldn't drop you off at the nearest hospital. You haven't heard of our kind before, Marlee, and there's a reason. We do whatever's necessary to protect our existence." We'll kill for it was left unsaid, but I heard that loud and clear. I nodded, striving to hold onto my numbness. Hysteria wouldn't help me, no matter how tempting it was to give in to that. "A person has to be bitten several times to be at risk of transforming, and half the people who've been bitten still don't shift," Joshua went on briskly. "We won't know whether you'll turn into one of us until the next full moon, two weeks away." Two weeks? It would take that long for me to find out whether or not I'd become a monster? I'd go insane wondering until then. And if it did happen…well, suicide didn't sound like a bad idea all the sudden. "What happens if after the full moon, I'm not…ah…like the rest of you?" I couldn't bring myself to say a werewolf. I just couldn't. Joshua gave me a thin smile. "That depends on you. Either you stay with us, as a member of the skinwalker part of our pack, or…" He shrugged. That single gesture completed his sentence. Or we kill you. One way or the other, I was screwed.

Chapter Three "Hungry?" I sat in the chair, my broken ankle finally in a cast, and glared at Daniel before replying. "Somewhere between the death threats and the thought of turning into a four-legged monster, I lost my appetite." Part of me wondered why I dared to be so surly. The other part figured I was as good as dead anyway, so it didn't matter. Daniel grunted. "Suit yourself, but I'm getting something." He stood, stretched, and then held out a hand. I just stared at it. "What?" "You're coming with me," he replied. "Who knows what kind of trouble you'd stir up if I left you alone?" "And I suppose you'll just drag me along anyway if I refuse?" A smile quirked his mouth. "You learn fast, don't you?" I gave Daniel another withering look that didn't seem to faze him. He was extremely striking, in an outdoorsy-type of way. His hair was chin length and russet, and he had a faint weathering to his features that spoke of long days outside. Daniel only looked a couple years older than me, which would put him at about thirty, but there was an air of command about him that made him seem older. None of the lawyers at my

office had such a dominating presence, in fact. But I wasn't about to let him know how much he intimidated me. Wasn't there a saying that showing fear in front of an animal made it more aggressive? "So, you're the group's babysitter, is that it?" "I'm the pack's enforcer, so it's my job to make sure anyone who's a danger to us – like you – doesn't get away. And I'm very good at my job, Marlee." At over six feet tall with muscles bulging from every limb, yeah, Daniel looked like he did a good job of enforcing. He'd scare anyone with half a brain. "What are you going to do with me for two weeks? You can't keep me tied to your hip." I didn't even want to think about after that, or what might happen on the full moon. He rubbed a knuckle under his chin and considered me. "With your limp, you wouldn't get far even if you did manage to slip away from me – which you wouldn't. So, let's get some dinner, then you can wash up and begin plotting ways to outsmart us dumb animals." Daniel said that last part with a challenging look that let me know he was both aware of my aversion to what they were and of my dreams of escape. I glanced away, gritting my teeth. "Didn't you say you were hungry?" He held out his hand again. "Come on. Let's eat."

*** I had to take Daniel's arm to avoid hopping on one leg to the dining lodge. They didn't give me any crutches, which I supposed was deliberate so as to keep me at a disadvantage. It looked like I was in some sort of tiny Wild West town, of all things. A narrow strip of street ran down between the twin rows of shops, lodgings, and…were those saloons? I half expected someone to gallop by on horseback, shooting at the moon. "What is this place?" I asked. Daniel grunted. "Not what you were expecting, right? Let me guess. You thought we'd live in a big den in the woods?" From his expression, he was teasing, but I wasn't trying to make friends with my kidnapper. "The 1800's called. They want their Tombstone replica back," I replied. Two could play at being a smart ass. Daniel kept perfect pace with me. I was using his arm as a sort of brace. His reflexes were so fast, he counter-balanced my every step, so I almost walked at my normal speed. "You're not far off," he said, ignoring my sarcasm. "This was an old mining town back in the nineteenth century. It was empty for decades after the silver dried up, but then some of my relatives bought it and the surrounding land. We restored many of the original buildings and cabins, plus added upgrades. Now, we rent it out seasonally as a private resort area." That brought me to a stop. "Werewolves running a resort town?" I asked incredulously. He shrugged. "We have to make a living, just like everyone else." This was like being in an episode of The Twilight Zone. We passed several people on our way down the street. I was surprised at how normal they looked. There were men and women of varying ages, plus a couple children, and everyone appeared to be minding their own business – aside from all the sideways glances I was getting. "Are all of them like you?" I asked, keeping my voice calm. My heart had started to pound, however, and if the movies were right, they could hear it. There were so many of them. How would I ever get away? "Most of them," Daniel said. "The others are skinwalkers – normal people, to you. But you don't have to be afraid of anyone, Marlee. We're not what you think." "I've already had some of your group try to kill me, and you and Joshua seem pretty open about how you'll finish the job," I replied shortly. "So you'll excuse me if I don't buy the whole 'we're misunderstood' speech." Something flashed in Daniel's eyes. It made me back up a step, but his hand shot out and gripped my arm. "Why'd you bring that gun camping with you?" he asked, voice soft. "You brought it for protection, right? Because if anyone tried to hurt you, you'd hurt them, right? Well, now imagine someone's trying to hurt your entire family. How far would you go to stop that?" Daniel leaned in, tightening his grip so I couldn't pull back. "I'd do anything to stop that," he whispered near my ear. "Including holding you hostage. If you got away, you'd tell people about us. People who would come and hurt my family. So yeah, I'm ruthless when it comes to protecting my pack. But don't pretend you wouldn't be the same way, if the shoe were on the other foot." That gleam of wildness was in his eyes again. The otherness that reminded me that an animal lurked inside him. I shivered. "Let go of me." He did, dropping my arm only to hold his out again. "We're almost there," he said, nodding at the square building to the left. I balanced on his arm again. We didn't speak as we walked the rest of the way to the dining lodge.

*** It looked like any normal, rustic restaurant inside, if a little more upscale. Instead of smaller tables scattered throughout, there were several long tables arranged in the room, each seating over a dozen. The food seemed to be served family-style, with large dishes placed in the middle of the tables from which everyone took their servings. There was a moment of quiet as Daniel and I walked in. "This is Marlee," Daniel said to the room at large. "She's joining us." I didn't know if he meant for dinner, as a possible new werewolf, or some other cryptic thing. I didn't argue, though. Not while feeling like a piece of meat dangled above a crocodile pit. "Hi," I said. God, that sounded stupid, but what else was I supposed to say? Somebody call 911 sounded tempting, but I didn't think it would do any good. An older woman bustled up to me, smiling. "Welcome, dear! Aren't you pretty? Such beautiful brown hair."

I just wanted to sit, hide, and plot my escape, not exchange pleasantries with Mrs. Butterworth's version of a werewolf. "Um, thanks." "Let's set you up over here, it's quieter," she said, leading Daniel and I to a table that only had four other people at it. "Thanks, Mom," Daniel said. I stopped so fast, I almost staggered. "Mom?" A grin edged his mouth. "Everyone has one, after all." "Quit teasing Marlee, she looks starved," his mother said to Daniel, holding out a chair for me. "We have excellent venison stew tonight. That should help put the color back in your face." I sat at the table, avoiding eye contact with the other four people, though I did notice one was a female. Daniel sat next to me, that half-smile still on his face. "Not what you expected again?" he asked. I glanced around the room once more. People were laughing, eating, and chatting. Sure, I kept getting discreet looks, but no one was licking their chops in a menacing way at me. It all looked terribly…civilized. "No," I replied, and left it at that. These people might look nice, but they were my kidnappers. My executioners, if I refused to become one of their group. All the table manners in the world couldn't make up for that. "Daniel," someone at the table said. "Introduce me." I glanced up, meeting a pair of blue eyes on a smiling face. Black hair hung past his shoulders, untamed and playful, like his expression. "Finn." There was a hint of a growl in Daniel's voice that hadn't been there before. "This is Marlee. Marlee, my younger brother, Finn." Again I was surprised at the family connection, though I shouldn't have been. Why wouldn't all of their kind congregate together? "Hi," I said in the same non-committal tone I'd used before. "Charmed," Finn replied, grin widening. "Cut her a break, she's had a bad day," the girl next to him muttered before giving me a sympathetic glance. "I'm Laurel, Daniel's cousin. Sorry about what happened." "Which part?" I couldn't help but ask. She sighed. "All of it." There was no stopping my snort. "Yeah. Me, too." Daniel cleared his throat. I returned my gaze to the table in front of me, tracing its edge. It'll be another day or so before people even realize something's happened to me. How long after that before Brandy or my parents organize a search, if there is one? How many days will go by before they give me up for dead? How am I supposed to just sit here, surrounded by werewolves, and pretend nothing is wrong? A tear slid down my cheek. I sucked in my breath, aghast, but that only made it worse. Another one came down. Then another. I bent my head, hoping my hair would hide it, when a warm hand landed on my shoulder. "Laurel, have the food sent to my cabin," Daniel said, then he scooped me up before I could even protest. We were out of the dining lodge and down the street in the next few heartbeats. "God, you're so fast," I gasped in astonishment. Fresh tears spurted. How could I ever get away, if he moved this fast and there was a town full of more creatures like him? "You're going to be okay, Marlee," he said. No, I wasn't. I was trapped in a strange place surrounded by creatures that weren't supposed to exist. My old life might not have been all champagne and roses, but no one had the right to rip me away from it without my consent. The enormity of what I'd lost between yesterday and today slammed into me. I didn't care anymore that the tears wouldn't stop, or that I started hitting Daniel. My grief was too sharp to worry about embarrassment or consequences.

Chapter Four Wolves were chasing me, biting at my ankles, snarling as they crowded around me, letting out howls that made my blood turn to ice. I ran, twigs stinging me as I darted between the trees, gasping for breath, crying out with each new flash of pain in my legs. They were toying with me. My death was only a matter of time. The full moon came into view between the trees, illuminating more wolves in my path. I screamed at them, but it came out as a howl. Horrified, I looked down to see that my feet had turned into paws. Fur slithered up my body, replacing my skin. I fell forward, claws shooting out of my fingers… "NO!" I woke up screaming the word, flinging the sheets away like they were animals attacking me. It took me a second to orient myself. Wood ceiling, wood walls, an antler chandelier above me. Right. I was in Daniel's cabin. All the better to make sure I couldn't escape. He sat in the reclining chair on the opposite side of the room, eyes slitted. Watching me. He'd slept in the chair last night. I guess I should appreciate him giving me the bed, but my gratitude was in short supply. "Another nightmare?" he asked quietly. I'd had them all night. Either I was getting eaten by wolves, or I was turning into one. Terrifying no matter which way you sliced it. Daniel stretched. The afghan he'd thrown over himself slipped, revealing that he'd taken off his shirt. Cords of muscles flexed beneath taut, tanned skin. Despite everything, I looked. I'd never seen such a perfectly muscled body before – at least, one that wasn't on TV advertising gym equipment. Daniel didn't have the bloated look associated with steroid users, but he had a thick, brawny frame that usually spoke of many hours in a gym. Absurdly, the image of a werewolf bench-pressing flashed in my mind. I glanced up to find Daniel staring at me. He didn't wink or make a comment, but there was no doubt he knew I'd been staring at his body. I managed to shrug. "Stockholm syndrome," I said. "The whole 'bonding with your captor' thing. I've already cried in your arms, now I'm checking you out. Just ignore it. Of course, I can't be your first captive, so you're probably used to this."

A faint smile touched his mouth. "You're the first female I've had to quarantine, and none of the men looked at me the way you did." There was something deeper in his voice with that last sentence. I shivered, both from unease and other things. Yes, Daniel was very attractive with his dark hair, thick brows, full mouth, and piercing hazel eyes – not to mention that body. But this wasn't a first date. This was a hostage situation, and a macabre one at that. "Don't let it go to your head. I'm scared to death and looking for any form of comfort," I said, regaining control. "Speaking of that, since a certain murderous gray wolf keeps appearing in my nightmares, I need to know. What happened to Gabriel?" Daniel's face became shuttered. "He's under arrest. If you shift, he dies for infecting you against your will. If you don't turn, Joshua said Gabriel losing his eye was punishment enough. Joshua had liquid silver poured into Gabriel's eye so it wouldn't heal." Their harshness apparently wasn't limited just to outsiders. I felt mildly sick over what I'd heard, but under the circumstances, pity for Gabriel was beyond me. "And the others?" Gabriel hadn't been alone. "They run the gauntlet." Daniel said it lightly, but I swallowed. "As in, the thing Native Indians used to do with captives, where they line up on both sides and beat the shit out of the person as he tries to dash down the center?" That hint of wildness was back in Daniel's gaze again, a primal, untamed gleam I'd never seen except in the eyes of an animal. On a fullgrown man, it both was mesmerizing and frightening. "Something like that. Except we'll be in our fur, and they won't." I couldn't help but gulp. That sounded barbaric, and it was on my account. Something occurred to me. "But it isn't the full moon. How can you…you know?" In fact, how had any of the werewolves changed form the other day, if I had to wait until the full moon to see if I was infected? "Once we're past the first year, we can shift at will. New pack members are dependent on the full moon to change, though." I digested this. "So, right now, you could turn into a –" "Wolf," he finished for me. "Yes." So many emotions crashed through me. Fear. Revulsion. Curiosity. Disbelief. What if all of this was a twisted farce, and I hadn't seen what I'd thought was a wolf turning into a man in the woods? What if this was just a town full of crazies who thought they were wolves, and in my stress, I'd bought into that? "Show me." The words were out of my mouth before I could form another thought. I had to see it. No matter what. Daniel stood, the afghan falling to the floor. He met my eyes, and a ripple went through me. His were even wilder than before, starting to slant and gleam with amber. He undid his jeans, letting them drop to the floor. Nothing but bare skin underneath. I might have made a sound. Seeing a magnificent naked male body only a few feet away is worth a sharp intake of breath, no matter the circumstances. But all my feminine appreciation fell away when he crouched on the floor and rivers of silvery hair began to replace the skin on his back. There was a crunching sound as bones curved, popped, and formed where none had been before. It didn't look the same as in the movies. There was no screaming. No slow protracting of a muzzle replacing a face, blood spurting, or drawn-out writhing. Daniel had simply crouched on the floor and then, in about ten seconds, a wolf the size of a pony, covered in silver and charcoal fur, stared at me with bright yellow eyes. "Marlee," it – Daniel – rumbled. I felt light-headed. Nope, you're not crazy, and neither are they. But that's the bad news. I had moved toward the door without even being aware of it. Daniel sat on his haunches in front of it, those golden eyes drilling into mine. "Sit," he said. A rather unhinged cackle came out of me. What looked like a huge dog was telling me to sit. How backward was that? "Woof," I replied in a shaky voice, but sat in the chair he'd recently vacated. The wolf's lips pulled back in a canine version of a grin. "Stay." I was about to say he was pushing it, when there was another ripple over his body. As seamlessly as water flowing on rocks, skin covered that thick silvery coat of hair, bones elongated, reformed, and in less time than it took me to get over the shock of seeing a wolf in the room, a naked man knelt on the floor. The only thing left over from the unbelievable transformation was a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. "Does it hurt?" Daniel sat back. "The first few times. Then you get used to it, and it feels…freeing." He looked like a man. A beautiful, mouth-watering specimen of a man, in fact. But an enormous animal was inside him, and took up God only knew how much of his mind and conscience. Daniel smiled slightly. "You smell like fear again, Marlee, but I've already told you – you have nothing to be afraid of." "That's the scariest thing I've ever seen," I replied, glad my voice was steady even though I was shaking inside. "How do I even know I'm talking to you? It might just as well be the wolf." "It's both," he said at once. "Always. And you still don't need to be afraid." Yeah. Sure. Considering it might be me shifting into an animal in a couple weeks. From where I was sitting, I had plenty to be afraid about. "I want to go home." Even as I said it, I knew it was useless. But it was true—so true that the very words ached. "I'm sorry for what brought you here. But even if you left and never told anyone about the pack, think of your family. You'd hurt one of them, Marlee. You wouldn't mean to, but you'd do it." Ice crept up my spine. "What are you talking about?" He inclined his head. "Your ankle." I looked at it. It was still wrapped in a cast, same as before. What…? It hit me. When I'd walked to the door from the bed minutes ago, I hadn't been limping, hadn't felt a twinge of pain. The ugly scratches and cuts were also gone. "Your ankle isn't broken anymore," Daniel confirmed, sympathy etched on his face. "And there isn't a mark on your skin, which would be impossible…unless you were one of us."

Chapter Five The lights from the street seemed to pale in comparison to the moon, which shone like an ominous bright hourglass in the sky. I looked up at it and shuddered. When it reached fullness, I would change into something not human. The thought was still as unbelievable as it was horrifying. All the residents of the town were in the streets. I did a mental head count and came up with forty, maybe fifty people. The 'pack', Daniel called them. My new family. I thought I might throw up. There was a slight commotion as a dozen people came from the far end of town. I recognized one of them and flinched, but Daniel laid a light hand on my arm. Even though he was a virtual stranger, the gesture calmed me. It shouldn't, of course. Daniel was dangerous, but somehow I sensed he'd defend me against the man being led to the middle of the street. I'd only glimpsed it right before passing out, but still, I'd know that face. When someone tries to murder you, it makes an impression. Not to mention that Gabriel was the only person here with one eye. His dark brown hair hung in strands around his face, and he was naked. What was it with these people and their lack of clothes? Joshua stepped out from the crowd. At least he was still dressed. "Gabriel Thompson, you have been found guilty of infecting a human against their will." "It's not the full moon," Gabriel snarled, trying to pull free of the two men who held him. "How do you know she will turn?" Joshua looked my way. Daniel grasped my hand and led me forward. I didn't want to get closer to Gabriel, but thankfully, Daniel stopped after a few feet. The blond doctor stepped out of the crowd. Gabriel shot me a look of pure hate. Instead of scaring me, it strengthened the momentary wobble I'd had in my knees. I'd never done anything to him, but he'd ruined my life. If anyone had a right to hatred, it was me. I put my shoulders back and matched his glare. Daniel gave me an approving nod. "Diana," Joshua addressed the blond doctor. It was the first I'd heard her name. "You examined Marlee yesterday. What did you find?" "Her right ankle was fractured," Diana recounted in a clinical voice. "She had multiple abrasions, contusions, lacerations, and puncture wounds on both her legs, plus a deeper wound on her right arm." Joshua swept out a hand to me. "Look at her now." I could almost feel the eyes raking over me, taking in my skin revealed by the short sleeved shirt and rolledup pants I was wearing. Both were too big, since they were Daniel's. My own clothes had been bloodied and ripped up in the attack, so they were no good. I didn't ask about what happened to my backpack. Seeing it again would remind me too much of everything I'd lost. "She is completely healed. There is the proof," Joshua stated flatly. "Gabriel, your sentence is death." Gabriel was released. He looked around in defiance, and I saw some people bow their heads, wiping at their eyes. Was his family here? I wondered. Daniel's was; I could see his mother on the opposite side of the street. How awful for Gabriel's family, even though I still didn't pity him. "I die, but the rest of you will follow," Gabriel hissed. "I'm only giving out the same mercy our kind has been shown. I refuse to be ashamed to hunt those who kill us." His words had barely died away when a shot rang out. I jumped, sucking in a breath as a gory crimson hole bloomed on Gabriel's chest. His eyes went wide, then he let out two harsh, labored breaths before falling to the ground. Somebody sobbed. Joshua's face was grim as he lowered the smoking rifle. "We only hunt to eat what we need to survive. We will never be like them," he stated. Seeing someone die from a gunshot wound was nothing like in the movies, either. No, it was horrible in ways I couldn't even begin to describe. "Never be like whom?" I asked Daniel. My voice was dull from shock. He didn't look away from Gabriel's twitching, bleeding form. "Humans." *** I didn't stay to watch the five men run the gauntlet. I'd already seen things that would be burned on my memory, no matter how I'd try to forget them. Daniel took me back to his cabin. He made coffee in silence and handed me a cup. It tasted like it was laced with something alcoholic, which I was grateful for. Occasionally, I'd hear shouts coming from the direction of the town. The gauntlet was a noisy business, it seemed. "Gabriel's wife," I said after the minutes stretched. "Joshua said a member of the pack was upset because his wife had been killed. That was Gabriel, right? Did…did hunters kill his wife?" Daniel sat across from me, resting his elbows on the table as he drank from his own cup. The lighting in the kitchen reflected off his hair, making the russet color look richer. "Yes." "But why hurt me?" I wondered. "I was camping, not hunting wolves!" A sigh rumbled out of Daniel. "Gabriel wasn't being logical. Neither were the others with him. The pack has been going through a hard time since the laws were changed." "What laws? No one even knows about werewolves; it's not like it's open season on them." "Gray wolves were taken off the endangered species list a few months ago," Daniel said, his expression hooded. "The government did it knowing what would happen. Before the ink was dry, scores of wolves were killed. They're trying to eliminate all wolves again. What Gabriel did was wrong, but I know what drove him to it. You can't understand what it's like, having people try to wipe out your very existence." His voice was bitter. I set my coffee cup down with a bang. "I'm Jewish. Don't tell me I can't understand what that's like." After a long moment, Daniel inclined his head. We sat in silence, but oddly, it wasn't tense silence. It was as if we'd come to an unspoken truce. "So," I said at last, mythology and reality competing in my mind. "Gabriel's wife was shot while in wolf form. How would the hunters know to use silver bullets? Maybe you've been found out after all." A bleak smile cracked his face. "The bullets don't have to be silver. No, Marlee, we can be killed in a lot of normal ways. But if the wound isn't mortal, and if it's not exposed

to silver, we can usually heal it." There was noise from the town again. Something like a cheer. Daniel nodded in its direction. "They must be finished." What a strange, harsh society this was. Gauntlets. Executions. Shapeshifting. And me, stuck right in the middle of it. "You know that soon, my family will start a search for me," I said. "My parents will notice when I don't come back from vacation, not to mention that my employers will wonder what happened when I don't show up in the next few days." He shook his head. "What were you thinking, hiking alone?" His tone was so scolding that I stiffened. "I didn't start out alone. My friends came with me, but then Brandy twisted her ankle so she and Tom had to leave. I was going to leave, too, but…" I stopped. Finishing that sentence would be too revealing. But I was sick of putting my dreams on hold, waiting for the perfect situation. I'd put off so many things thinking I had to have my life set up just perfectly first. It's why I stayed at my job as a paralegal instead of continuing my education to be a lawyer (I wanted to decide on the perfect branch of law to practice before making that leap). It's why I'd waited so long to take this camping trip (I wanted to pay my car off before splurging on a vacation). It's also why I hadn't moved to Manhattan with Paul when he'd asked me. No, I'd wanted to be further along in my career before taking my relationship with him to the next level. Staring at Brandy's twisted ankle that day, thinking that again I was going to have to put my plans on hold, had been the last straw. I'd decided to hell with waiting. Even if I was doing it alone, I was hiking through Yellowstone like I'd planned. And look where that decision got me. "You wouldn't understand," was all I said. His gaze was steady. "I thought we'd just established that we're both capable of understanding a lot more than the other realizes." I let out an impatient sigh. "All right, then how's this? I don't want to tell you. I don't know why I'm even talking to you. You're my kidnapper." "Not really." Softly, but the words still resonated. "You're part of the pack now. And as enforcer, I keep the pack safe. Even if it's from themselves." This wasn't a conversation I wanted to explore. I yawned, hoping he'd take the hint. He did. Daniel pushed his chair back and stretched. "Are you going to give me trouble if I take a shower?" I eyed him warily. "I won't throw a radio in with you, if that's what you're talking about." He grinned. "Good to know, but I meant, can I trust you not to run away while I'm in the shower? I don't want to have to tie you to a chair, but I also don't feel like chasing after you with soap in my eyes." I looked away from his smile, which was charming, sexy, and dangerous all at the same time. It wasn't the dangerous part that unnerved me; it was the other things. "I'll stay put." But only because you'd hear me if I didn't. Daniel went in the bathroom and I sat on the bed, debating whether to climb under the covers, since the room was chilly. Finally I decided to wait. I'd shower once Daniel was done, then I'd borrow one of his shirts to sleep in again. At least they were long enough that modesty wasn't an issue. I cast one longing look at the window and the freedom that lay beyond it, but then sighed. Daniel would chase after me, stark naked and soapy, then he'd probably tie me to a chair after all. The thought of sleeping sitting up while duct-taped didn't appeal to me. No, I'd wait for another chance to escape. One had to come up. After about ten minutes, Daniel appeared in the door frame. His hair looked darker wet, and drops of water still beaded his skin. All he had on was a towel slung low on his hips, the white color emphasizing his tan. He ran a hand through his hair, flinging more droplets away. With that simple, muscle-rippling gesture, he made me forget everything for a moment and just stare.

No wonder he isn't human. No normal person could be this sculpted and gorgeous. It occurred to me that I was still staring even though several seconds had ticked away. Look away, stupid! flashed through my mind. So I did, dragging my gaze up his chest to meet his face. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't scowling. No, he was just staring at me with such an open hunger that a painful clench grabbed me below the waist. All at once, I wasn't chilled. I was warm, bordering on sweating. This is wrong. All wrong. Don't you dare. You need to snap out of this right now. "Stockholm syndrome," I whispered. It could only be that. Who in their right mind got turned on by their kidnapper, no matter what he looked like? "Or something else." Daniel's voice was equally soft, but it contained an undertone that sent a shiver through me. "Wolves can tell their intended mate by scent, sometimes before they've even sighted them. Once the two meet…things are inevitable from there." That wildness was lurking in his eyes again. It made me twist the bed sheets with my fingers. "I'm not a wolf." Daniel just smiled, dark and sensual and promising. "You will be soon."

Chapter Six A tentative knock sounded at the door. "Can I come in?" The voice was feminine. I would have said no, but as there was no lock, so what was the point? "Fine." A girl with auburn hair came in. It took a moment, but then I recognized her from the other night. Daniel's cousin. Damned if I remembered her name. "I brought you some clothes," she said. "Hope they fit, but if they don't, you can take them back. The store's right down the street." The girl set a couple bags on the bed. I'd barely left this room for two days since the night of the gauntlet. Confusion and uncertainty overwhelmed me. What had started out as a twisted hostage scenario had changed into something more: I could now sense the rain before it started, hear noises from further away than humanly possible, and had recurring dreams about turning into a wolf that had turned from terrifying to strangely exhilarating instead.

No, what had me hiding in my room at the moment was that I was increasingly drawn to Daniel. I craved his scent more than food, followed him with my gaze whenever he entered the room, and had to literally fight with myself not to touch him when he was near. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. The worst part was, I was pretty sure Daniel knew what I was going through. He'd tried to talk to me for the past two days, but I refused to speak with him. I didn't trust myself. I should be focusing on the fact that I was changing into a monster, and not be secretly fascinated by my new senses, or lusting after the person who held me prisoner. The night of the full moon loomed in front of me like an executioner's axe. Whatever control I had over myself now, I knew it would be gone as soon as that ghostly orb rose in the sky. Some primal, burgeoning part of me was looking forward to that. "…thought we could have a soak," the girl was saying. "That always helps me when I'm upset." "What?" I hadn't been paying attention to a word she was saying. "The hot springs," she repeated. "We have indoor and outdoor ones. I bought you a swimsuit. Anything's got to be better than being cooped up in this room day and night." Outside. With just her. I gave her a quick, cagey look. Maybe this was my chance. She was petite, looked about nineteen or twenty, and seemed nice. Let's hope she was gullible, too. "Sure. Thanks," I added, smiling. "What's your name again? I'm sorry, I don't remember." "Laurel," she said with an answering smile. "Here, I'll leave so you can change." "Can we go to whichever spring has the least amount of people? I'm, ah, shy about being in a bathing suit around strangers." Growing up spending my summers at Lake Michigan, that was a lie, but she didn't know that. She nodded. "Sure." I lowered my voice. "He doesn't need to come, does he?" I asked, with a nod toward the rest of the cabin, where Daniel was. "I'm so tired of him shadowing my every move." She lowered her voice as well. "I'll talk to him." My smile widened. Nice and gullible. My luck was changing. *** If circumstances were different, I would have been awed at how beautiful this place was. The cabins were set near the end of the mini-town and spaced well apart for privacy. The mountains loomed majestically around all of it. Forests bridged the bottom of the mountains, adding a more secluded feel, and the steam rising up from the rock-bed hot springs looked both soothing and inviting. But, sinking into the warm mineral water, I was reminded of my tub at home in my apartment. A stab of longing went through me when I thought about my parents, who I'd meant to call before leaving on my camping trip. My older sister, Leigh. My nephew, who'd just turned one last month. My coworkers, who made the long hours from nine to five pass much more quickly. My best friend Brandy. Her boyfriend Tom, who told me in confidence right before they left that he was going to pop the question. Would I see any of them again? I will, I promised myself. I'll get away. I'll…I'll find a doctor to cure me. I just have to get away. No matter what. "Feeling better?" Laurel asked. She leaned back, settling her arms around the edge of the rock lip. "Yes." And I did. I'd committed myself to a course of action and I'd follow it through. No matter what. "I don't know why you'd be embarrassed to be seen in a swimsuit, Marlee," she went on. "You're very pretty. Finn's already interested." "Finn?" I asked blankly. "My cousin. The guy with the long black hair. You met him the same night you met me." Oh yeah. "He looked young," I said neutrally. She laughed. "He's forty-two." My jaw dropped as I remembered the smooth-skinned, flirty Finn. "Can't be." Laurel gave me a slanted look. "There are advantages, you know," she said in a casual tone. "You know how one year equals seven in a dog's life? Well, we have the reverse of that. And you already know we heal a lot faster than normal people. Plus, when we change, we experience the world in ways no one else can. I don't know how anyone would rather be just a human." I gaped at her. Just when I thought things couldn't get any stranger. "How old are you?" I managed. She settled back more comfortably. "Oh, I'm only twenty, but the good news is, I'll look like this for a long time. The age slowing doesn't happen until puberty's over, thank God. Imagine being a teenager for forty years?" I couldn't. "And Daniel?" "I'll let him tell you how old he is," Laurel replied. She had a little smirk that made me wary. "What?" "Nothing." Like hell. She was obviously itching to say more. I scooted closer, lowering my voice. "What?" Laurel's smirk widened. "Normally, when someone's exposed to us like you were – which is very rare, by the way – Daniel is the one to bring them in, but he doesn't watch that person the whole time. He's big on privacy. He's never had someone stay at his cabin for four days straight, even a girlfriend. Add his refusal to let Finn visit you and, well…he's acting possessive. Like a wolf with his future mate." I was alternating between shocked and triumphant. Daniel, seeing me as a future mate? So it wasn't just me who'd been so affected the past few days! But that presented a whole new set of problems. It was one thing when I thought Daniel was just doing his job as the pack's enforcer. Knowing he might be feeling the same thing toward me would decimate the slim hold I had on my control, and I still needed to get away. Not complicate things to a fantastic degree. Or, Laurel could be wrong. Daniel could be keeping me close because he knew I hadn't really accepted this as my new life. Either way, I had to take advantage of my chance, which brought me to why I'd agreed to this outing. I hunched a little, letting an expression of pain spasm on my face. "What's wrong?" Laurel asked. "Cramps," I said with another grimace. "I'm getting my period. Could you do me a huge favor? I don't want to embarrass myself by springing a leak while walking back to town. Can you get me some tampons? I'll wait here." I climbed out of the hot water and sat on one of the large rocks, wrapping a towel around me. Here's hoping the universal sympathy every woman had for that time of the month would result in Laurel doing something stupid.

She gave me such an odd look that I cursed myself for not coming up with a better reason for her to go away. Well, I didn't have much time to think up a clever ploy. But then she smiled. "Be right back." Laurel got up, fastened a towel around herself, and walked away. I waited, barely breathing, until she rounded a cabin that took her out of sight, then I bounded up, running flat out of the nearest line of trees.

Chapter Seven I didn't have shoes on so rocks cut into my feet, but I ignored them. It would only take Laurel ten to fifteen minutes to return. That's all the time I had to get away. I ran like I was on fire, noting with a growing sense of awareness that I was moving faster than I ever had before. Maybe it was the werewolf curse inside me that would help me get away. Go faster. Head for the mountains. It'll be harder for them to track your scent over all the rock. The forest was alive with sounds. The cry of birds. The rustling of branches as they rubbed together in the wind. The thuds my feet made on the drying leaves strewn over the uneven ground. That feeling of fright began to lessen, replaced with an inexplicable joy over running as hard and fast as I could. I might be running away from this life, but right now, I felt strong, free, and wild, like the forest itself was spurring my steps. I went faster, forgetting the pain in my feet, until the trees were almost a blur around me. Giddiness bubbled inside me. This felt right. Like I'd been waiting my whole life to run this way. Something hard collided with me, snatching me up. My heart was already pounding, but it kicked into another gear as I glimpsed who'd grabbed me. Daniel. He whirled me around to face him, those blazing amber eyes pinning me as tightly as his grip did. "What were you thinking?" he asked, giving me a shake. "You're in a bathing suit and a towel! I should have waited and gone after you tomorrow. Maybe spending the night freezing out here would have knocked some sense into you." My emotions were on overload from the dizzying adrenaline rush of my escape, the frustration of being caught, and the residual exhilaration of the run. I didn't feel like myself. I felt as if something hiding inside me had finally taken over. I grabbed Daniel's hair and yanked his head down, slanting my mouth across his. There was a split second where he froze - then his mouth opened, his tongue twisting with mine. His hand tangled in my hair, jerking me closer, while the other hand molded our bodies together. The heat coming from him made me gasp, but I pressed against him, wanting more of it. He growled, kissing me deeper, harder, unleashing a flood of lust even as it shook me from my earlier recklessness.

If you don't stop now, you'll end up having sex here, on the ground just like the animal you're turning into… "No!" I wrenched away, panting. Daniel let me out of his arms, but his hand tightened on my wrist, not letting me get entirely free. "What's wrong?" I gave a bark of laughter. "You. Me. Everything." He pushed his hair out of his face, staring at me with an intensity that made me shiver. "It's right, even if you don't want to admit it." My towel had fallen to the ground, leaving me in just the bathing suit. Daniel's eyes slid over me like a rough caress. A tremor ran through me and gooseflesh rippled, as if my skin were trying to arc toward him with a will of its own. Daniel's grip on my wrist softened to a light stroke of his fingers. "You want me," he said in a low voice. "Why are you pushing me away?" That stiffened my spine. "Because I can. You've stolen all my other choices, but this one's still mine. And I say no." He let me go. That warm amber light in his eyes hardened to something darker. He picked up my towel, handed it to me, and turned his back. "I'm not the one who stole your choices. Gabriel did. If you stay in these woods, you'll probably die of exposure. If you don't, then in a week, you'll change, but you won't know how to change back. Eventually you'll go insane, trapped in your new form, controlled by urges you can't imagine. You'll end up mauling whoever you come across, be it man, woman, or child. Then people will hunt you. They'll kill other wolves trying to get to you, but sooner or later, they'll find you. You'll get shot or caught in a trap, but either way, it will be horrible. Walk away now and people are guaranteed to die, including you. Come back with me and no one dies. There's your choice." "I can get to a doctor, find a cure," I replied stubbornly. Daniel laughed, but it was harsh. "We've had doctors within the pack try to find a cure for decades. Not for ourselves, but to fix people who've been unwillingly infected, like you. There is no cure, Marlee. If there was, we'd have given it to you already." Hopelessness crashed over me. "You're telling me I'll never see my family and friends again. You're so willing to do anything for your pack, but you expect me to just forget about anyone who's ever meant anything to me in my life!" He still didn't turn around. "If you wouldn't have refused to speak to me for days, I'd have told you that you only need to be quarantined for a couple months. Once you've learned control, you can see your family and friends. They can come here, or you can move away. You'd need to live somewhere close to wolves, though, so when you change, you're not running on four legs down a city street attracting unwanted attention." My brain whirled with this new information. I didn't have to be trapped here forever. I could go home, see my parents, my sister, Brandy,

even my nephew again. I could wait it out. Get control. Could I actually learn to live as both a woman and a wolf? Daniel started walking away, the dried leaves crunching under his feet. I stared after him, not moving. Was he really giving me a choice? If I walked the other way, would he truly not stop me? I tested it. Turned and walked in the other direction. There wasn't the slightest hesitation in his steps as he kept going. He's tricking you, my cynicism whispered. He'll come back. I kept walking. So did he. Soon the sounds of Daniel's footsteps began to lessen as we moved further away from each other. After ten minutes, I couldn't hear him at all.

Chapter Eight

Even with the moonlight illuminating the forest, I would have been lost without Daniel's scent. I wasn't used to relying on my sense of smell, but that's exactly what I was doing as I walked back through the woods toward what I thought was the town. In my peripheral vision, hazy flashes of maroon darted by. It had scared me the first few times I saw it, but then I realized what it was. I was seeing the heat living creatures gave off, just like I was looking through an infrared camera. My sharpened senses made me feel more alive than I ever had. It seemed like I'd been sleepwalking the previous twenty-five years of my life, numbed to all the brilliance of the world around me. Of course, I knew what this was—the wolf in me, getting ready to be freed. It was the main reason why, after sitting in the forest watching the sun fall and the moon rise, I was walking back to the town. Chosen or not, I was part wolf now. I couldn't go back to my family, friends, or coworkers, not knowing what I was capable of, even if I did make it out of these woods. If the choice was sacrificing months of my life dealing with the strangest scenario imaginable, versus risking people I loved by hoping Daniel was wrong and I wouldn't one day eat them…well, there was no choice. Not in my opinion. That wasn't the reason my heart started to beat faster when I recognized the man leaning against a tree just outside the limits of the town. All right, I'd had more motivation than just protecting my loved ones by returning. With every step I'd taken away from Daniel, something burning and heavy had settled in my heart. It was as unfamiliar, frightening, and exciting as the other changes I'd experienced this week. How could I care so much after such a short period of time? I'd been with Paul for three years, but hadn't felt the crushing sense of loss at our breakup that I did walking away from Daniel. Was it some supernatural hormone gone haywire? I didn't know. I only knew it was the most real thing I'd ever felt. "I thought you were letting me go," I said. "Yet here you are, still in the forest instead of in bed at your cabin." Daniel turned. He was still too far away for me to see his expression, but his voice sounded raw. "I was letting you go, but no wolf can sleep while his mate is in danger." Mate. Such a primitive word, and so possessive. All things considered, we barely knew each other. Why wasn't I uneasy at hearing it? Why did warmth spread over me, even as I was shivering in the cold night air? I swallowed. "How can you be sure?" He was at my side in the next heartbeat, enfolding me in his arms, his body heat almost searing my skin. "I knew it as soon as I smelled your scent," he said, low and rough. "I told you, that's how it is with wolves. That day with Gabriel—I wasn't tracking him. He and the others had masked their scents so I wouldn't be able to trace them. But I found them anyway because I'd been tracking you." This was overwhelming. I shuddered even as I leaned in closer to him. "Daniel, everything has happened so fast…" He caressed my face. "Don't judge by that. Breathe me in. Tell me what you feel." I inhaled near his neck, absorbing the mix of wood smoke, cinnamon, and musk that made up his scent. Contentment battled with lust inside me. I wanted to throw Daniel to the forest floor, rub my body all over his, claim his flesh as my own, and then hold him and never let go. "I feel more than I have a right to," was what I said, voice shaky. He bent so that his lips were almost brushing mine. "I give you the right. I want you to claim me as yours." And I wanted to be claimed. That was the truth of it. Whether it was me or the wolf inside who'd made this decision, I didn't know. But I felt it through every fiber of me. I'd asked Daniel days ago if it was him I was talking to or the wolf. It's both, he'd said. Always. I hadn't understood then, but I did now. The wolf didn't feel like it was a separate entity from me anymore; it was me, but without all my fears, doubts, or hesitations. The wolf was me stripped of all my pretense, and it knew, unequivocally, that Daniel was mine. And so did I. "Take me home," I whispered. It was an invitation and a promise. I wasn't giving up my family or my friends, but I'd first learn to live in harmony with the wolf in me, and I'd do it here, with the help of my mate. Daniel picked me up and carried me to his cabin. I was smiling the whole way.

THE END About the author: Jeaniene is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Night Huntress series and the Night Huntress World novels. To date, foreign rights for her novels have sold to fourteen different countries. Jeaniene lives in Florida with her husband Matthew, who long ago accepted that she swears like a sailor, rarely cooks, and always sleeps in on the weekends. Jeaniene and Matthew are the proud parents of Gypsy, their very spoiled dog who believes Jeaniene’s only purpose in life is to cater to her. Find out more about Jeaniene at her website: http://jeanienefrost.com

In Sheep's Clothing Meljean Brook

Five years ago, Emma Cooper would have thought a blown tire in the middle of a blizzard was bad. But bad was the small, spiked metal ball her fingers found embedded in the rubber—and worse was the truck, its headlights on bright, pulling off the two-lane highway and onto the shoulder twenty yards behind her Jeep. The tire iron in her hands rattled against the one lug nut she'd had time to crack loose. She hadn't even raised the jack yet; it lay on the icy asphalt behind the flat front tire. No, not much time had passed at all. He must have been waiting off the road for her to drive by, his truck concealed by the dark and the snow. Don't panic, Emma told herself, and pulled in a long breath between her chattering teeth. Now was definitely not the time to panic. Still gripping the tire iron, Emma rose from her crouch. The rattling rumble of his diesel motor cut off. The pounding of her heart filled the sudden, snow-muffled silence. Stay calm. She tugged open the front door of her Jeep, slid into the driver's seat, and hit the locks. Emma had been living in Seattle the past five years, but she'd kept up on the local news. In the last eighteen months, four vehicles—each with flat tires—had been found abandoned on this rural stretch of an Oregon highway. Each time, searchers recovered the body of a woman from the surrounding woods. Each woman had been raped and strangled. The truck door slammed shut. Oh, God. She squinted against the glare of headlights in the rearview mirror, but couldn't see anything. With her right hand, she rummaged blindly through her purse on the passenger seat and found her cell phone. It had been years since she'd dialed the number, but she still knew it by heart. Nathan Forrester answered on the third ring. She spoke over his sleep-roughened greeting. "Hey, Sheriff Studly." Emma could see the dark figure in her side mirror now. The silhouetted shape was tall, and wearing a thick coat and a cowboy hat. She couldn't tell if he carried a gun. "I'm on the side of the highway with a flat tire, and I could really, really use a lift." "Emma? Oh, Christ. Emma, listen—don't accept any help." "I didn't plan on it." She stared at the mirror. He'd walked half the distance to her Jeep. Her fingers tightened on the tire iron, her nails drawing blood from the heel of her palm. Stay calm. "But I think he plans to offer help anyway." She heard Nathan swearing and running across a wooden floor. "Where are you? You still have your Jeep?" "About ten miles before the Bluffs turnoff. And, yes. I still have it." "Okay, Emma, I'm on my way, but you've got to drive. Stay in low gear. The flat tire will pull hard at your steering wheel, but your Jeep will go. So you start it now and get the hell out of there." Emma jammed the phone between her cheek and shoulder, turned the ignition key. The engine fired up. A shadow darkened her window. She looked over just he swung her jack through the glass.

*** It was worse than the others had been—the window shattered, the door hanging open, blood splashed in the snow. Gun in hand, Nathan jumped from his Blazer, his unlaced boots skidding on the icy road. He slid into the side of the Jeep, glanced inside. The seats were empty. The breath he drew to roar her name felt like the first he'd pulled into his aching chest since he'd heard the breaking glass and her aborted shriek. "Emma!" The echo faded, leaving the whisper of falling snow and the low growl of his truck engine. A trail of blood and thrashed snow led behind the Jeep. Nathan followed it, the freezing air biting at his face, his uncovered ears. From the pine trees alongside the road came the snap of a breaking branch. Nathan swung around, scanning the night. The light from the half-moon barely pierced the tree line, and the shadows between the pines danced in the flashing red and blue lights from his truck. His muscles tensed; something was moving through the woods, its eyes reflecting the strobe lights like a cat's. He aimed his flashlight, switched it on. The high-powered light flooded Emma's pale face before her hand flew up, shielding her eyes. Oh, thank God. Thank God. His knees almost gave out, but through some miracle, he remained standing. He skimmed the light down her body, and his heart lurched. Blood stained her sweater and jeans. He pushed into the snow drift on the highway shoulder, began to wade toward her. "Are you hurt?" "No." She lowered her hand. Her voice was steady. "He's gone. Toward Pine Bluffs." And must have turned down a side road. Nathan hadn't met anyone on his way here. "Is that his blood or yours?" "His. I panicked and bit him." Her head tilted back as he drew closer, and he could see the trail of blood under her jaw, the faint smear on her chin. "Good," he murmured, and lifted his cold hand to her warm cheek, gently turning her face. A livid bump had formed beneath the short dark hair; the skin was broken. "Biting him was not good, Nathan. Not good at all." She sighed, then winced when he brushed his thumb over the bump. "He whacked me with the jack." Hit in the head with a jack, and she was still upright? There was no chance that that was going to last; she must be running on pure adrenalin. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, turned toward the road. "Let's get you back to town." Back. Finally. But he hadn't imagined her return would be like this.

And God only knew why she'd left in the first place.

*** Emma waited in Nathan's truck while he spoke with the deputy who pulled in behind him a few minutes later. She warmed her hands in front of the heater as Nathan grabbed her suitcases from the back of her Jeep. Melting snow darkened his brown hair to black, and plastered the short strands to his forehead. He'd come without a hat, without tying his boots, without changing out of his checkered flannel pajama pants. He'd remembered to button his sheepskin jacket over his bare chest only after Deputy Osborne had arrived. "Once word of this gets out, your deputies are never going to let you live it down," she said when Nathan slid into his seat. He glanced over toward Osborne. When he looked back at Emma, his broad grin kicked her heart against her ribs. "Word isn't getting out. Last year, I caught Osborne in the break room singing—and dancing—to Britney Spears." "How'd you know it was Britney Spears?" "It's a damn good thing he never asked me that, isn't it?" Nathan made a U-turn, lifting his hand as he drove past Osborne. "How's your head?" She prodded the bump on her scalp and grimaced. "Not bad. It only hurts when I touch it." "Then—" "Don't touch it." She met his eyes. There was warmth and laughter there, just as there'd been six years ago when she'd fallen off one of his horses, bruising her pride and her elbow. Her aunt Letty had given her the same advice then—don't touch it. "Yes, I know." His smile faded as his gaze swept over her again. "We'll stop at Letty's, have her look at that bump. Then I'll take you both to my place." Aunt Letty's old farmhouse shared a lane with the Forrester property. "Do you think that's necessary?" "Yes." The instrument panel cast a faint green light over his hard profile and the grim set of his mouth. "We're pretty sure he's local. And even if we try to keep your identity quiet, word will get out." And everyone knew where Aunt Letty lived, where Emma would be staying. "Will he come after me?" "If he thinks you can identify him, yes. No one's gotten away from him before." Nathan had already asked if she'd recognized her attacker. Emma hadn't. She'd know him if she saw him again, though. Or smelled him. With luck, however, she wouldn't have to taste him again. "I bit his hand pretty hard," she said. "I can see that." His gaze dropped to her shoulder. The blood soaking her wool sweater overwhelmed almost every other odor in the Blazer, so that beneath its metallic scent she only detected a faint hint of coffee, vinyl seats, the earthiness of male skin, and his lingering fear. "We'll keep a look out for any hand injuries. But this time of year, everyone's wearing gloves. Even if you took a good chunk, he could hide it." More than a chunk. Nausea churned in her stomach. "His truck had a diesel engine. It was a pickup truck.. I know it was one of the big ones, because the lights were high up." "Good. That's good, Emma. That'll help us." He rubbed his hand over his face before flipping the windshield wipers to high, whipping away the heavy flakes. "What the hell were you thinking, driving through this mess in the middle of the night?" She'd been thinking that even if her Jeep had gotten stuck, even if it had slid into a ditch, she'd be fine. Running the distance to Aunt Letty's would have been no effort. It would have been fun. "Well, I wasn't thinking that a murderer would give me a flat tire." She waited until he glanced over, met her eyes. "You're only pissed at me because you were scared. Believe me, I was scared, too. Out of my freaking wits." Nathan clenched his jaw, looked through the front windshield again. "You're calm enough now." And barely holding onto that calm. Her senses were filled with blood, with Nathan. "Trust me," she said softly. "That's a good thing."

*** Even waking her at two in the morning didn't trip Aunt Letty up. Telling her about Emma's run-in with a serial killer didn't either, but Emma hadn't expected it to. No, not Aunt Letty. Her only reaction was one similar to the reaction she gave the first time Emma had changed into a wolf in front of her: she stared at Emma with eyes like steel, but with softly pursed lips. Then she'd ordered Emma to sit at the kitchen table while she collected her first aid supplies from the pantry. Her white hair was braided for sleep; beneath the mint green terry-cloth robe, Emma knew there would be a sprigged flannel nightgown with a bit of lace at the hem. Her cool fingers were all wrinkles and knuckles, gentle as she cleaned the wound. "So, young man," she said to Nathan as she unwrapped a bandage, "you're moving us to your place because you're worried he'll come after my Emma." "Yes, Miss Letty," Nathan said from the kitchen entrance. If he'd had his hat, Emma thought, it'd have been between his hands. Before retiring last year, her aunt had been both teacher and nurse at the tiny Pine Bluffs high school. Emma hadn't met anyone in town below the age of fifty who didn't speak to Letty with the same deference that Nathan did. "And what did Emma say to that?" "She didn't argue." Letty arched her white eyebrows. "Well, isn't that something?" she murmured. "I thought for sure Emma would have said she'd handle any threat on her own." "I bit him," Emma said quietly, her gaze locked with her aunt's. "He's dangerous—and going to get worse." "Then it seems to me that, before things get worse, you've got some explaining to do." Letty straightened up. "Maybe you can get started on that while I pack." Emma sighed, and watched Nathan step aside to let her aunt pass into the hallway. Of course Letty was right. But knowing was easier than doing. Knowing was always easier than doing. But that was why she'd come back, wasn't it? There were things to do, and to explain. She just hadn't realized she'd be starting this early. "You might as well change now, too," Nathan said, his deference going as easily as it had come. His fear had passed, too. And his anger. In

their place was speculation. His eyes narrowed as he assessed her from head to toe. "I'll need your clothes as evidence. It's unlikely that you'll be getting them back." "That's fine." Emma hooked her fingers beneath the hem of the blood-stained sweater, and paused. "You're going to watch?" "I will if you take them off here where I can see you." In answer, she pulled the sweater over her head. He'd been teasing her, she knew. But now his smile froze in place as Emma took off her tshirt and threw it on top of her sweater. Then she began to shimmy out of her jeans. She heard his approach, the racing of his heartbeat. His hands flattened on the table on either side of her hips, closing her in with his wide shoulders and tall frame. "Stop it, Emma." The growl rumbling up from her chest stole her response. She kicked the jeans free of her feet, and stood in front of him in her bra and panties. Nathan's face darkened; his breathing deepened. "We got along before, pretending we could just be friends. I can't do that now, not after that phone call, not after hearing you scream and not knowing—" He bit off his words. His throat worked and he leaned in, forcing her back against the table. "So you should think a little before stripping off in front of me." Off balance, she grabbed onto his biceps to steady herself. "I've thought more than a little. I've been thinking about you for five years." "Not hard enough, obviously." He backed out of her grip. "Because for five years, you've been up in Seattle." She crossed her arms over the scratchy lace of her bra. "You haven't exactly been burning up the highway between here and there." He stared at her for a long moment before he turned toward the door, shaking his head. "You always ask the one question I don't have an answer to." "I didn't ask anything." "Yes, you did. Which suitcase do you need?" She blinked. "The small one." She listened to the heavy tread of his footsteps on the front porch, then to the snow crunching beneath his boots as he walked to the truck. Winter in Pine Bluffs. Emma knew the summers better. When she was sixteen, her mother had sent her to stay with Letty over summer vacation, arguing that time away from the city would do her good. Emma had chosen to come the next six years. Nathan had only been part of the reason, because her mother had been right—time in Pine Bluffs had done her good. She loved the forests with their thick mats of pine needles over red earth, loved the town with its three stoplights and not a single chain restaurant. So she'd visited, first in high school and then throughout college, fully intending to make it a permanent move after she'd earned her degree. But she'd changed her plans, that last summer. Apparently Nathan had been thinking of that summer too, and the hike they'd taken around the lake, the tension simmering between them. "Your leg didn't scar," he said, setting her case on the table. Automatically, Emma glanced down at her right calf. Smooth skin stretched over muscle that, five years ago, had been mangled, bleeding. "It turned me into a werewolf. So I heal faster now." His short burst of laughter was exactly what she'd expected. No, she couldn't tell him straight out. She'd have to prepare him, so that he could more easily accept the unbelievable. After dropping Aunt Letty and Emma at his house, Nathan would have to return the highway and help Osborne go over the scene at the Jeep. It would be a simple thing to follow him in wolf form and offer help...and then hope he didn't shoot her, as he had the werewolf who'd attacked her. A lead bullet between the eyes killed a werewolf just as easily as it did a man; unfortunately, death hadn't changed him back to his human form. If it had, she might have known what was happening to her. She might have known where the cravings came from, and why she'd woken up naked in the woods just outside Nathan's bedroom window. But she'd probably have been just as frightened, and run just as fast. "Your Jeep was packed full," he said, and she could feel his gaze on her as she unzipped her suitcase. "Are you staying a while?" "Forever, probably." "Why now?" She stepped into her jeans. "Aunt Letty's getting older, there's an opening for a science teacher at the high school, and I need a place to run." His eyebrows drew together. "Are you in trouble?" "Not a place to run to. A place to run. The city isn't good for that." His frown remained, but he only nodded. Emma pulled on a sweater as Letty came back into the kitchen, bundled in her coat and knitted cap. Daisy, the yellow Labrador who'd been Letty's companion for as long as Emma could remember, had ventured downstairs and now sat at Letty's heel. The dog's body was taut, shaking. That was another reason Emma had left. But she'd since learned that, with time, a dog would get over its instinctive fear of her. It just took a lot of dog biscuits. Letty's steely gaze landed on Emma's face. Emma shook her head. An aging aunt, a job, a place to run. All true. And Nathan was another reason—but she couldn't tell him that until after she showed him the rest.

*** The snow let up just before dawn. Nathan walked the highway shoulder, sweeping his flashlight over the ground, hoping for even a foot of tire track that hadn't been filled in. Emma had helped narrow down the type of vehicle, but a matching tread would go further in court. Two hundred yards from her Jeep, he gave up. Turning back, he saw Osborne standing beside the deputy vehicle, lifting his hand. Nathan waved him on. There was nothing left here. He'd have the Jeep towed into town, and the snow and the plows would erase the rest. Then he'd spend a good portion of the morning bucking through the logging roads that turned off the main highway between here and Pine Bluffs, searching for the route Emma's attacker had used. Cold, boring work, which would give him too much time to spend in his head. This meant he'd probably spend a good portion of the morning obsessing over Emma. And wishing that he was with her in his old bedroom, in that old double bed heaped high with blankets, instead of trudging through the freezing backwoods. He glanced into her Jeep as he passed it. An inch of white snow covered the driver's seat, and the black powder from the fingerprinting kit

dusted the door handles. Not much hope there, either. Emma had been certain her assailant had been wearing leather gloves. Yet she'd still managed to bite through the gloves hard enough that his blood had splashed all over her. Terror lent her strength. A hot ball of anger settled in his gut. Nathan looked away from the Jeep, staring blindly into the tree line. They were going to get the bastard this time. If the son of a bitch knew what was good for him, he'd walk into the sheriff's office now and turn himself in. But Nathan hoped to God that when the time came, the bastard resisted arrest. Of course, they had to identify him first. With a sigh, he banged his fist against the roof of the Jeep, turned back to his vehicle. And froze. A wolf lay in front of his Blazer, like a dog stretched out before a fire, but twice the size of any dog Nathan had ever seen. He'd seen a wolf this large before, however; he'd killed a wolf this large after it had attacked Emma on a hiking trail. But this wolf wasn't snarling, hackles raised and fangs bared. Its thick, dark fur lay flat over its back; its head was raised, amber eyes watching him steadily, pointed ears pricked forward. He rested his hand on his weapon, but didn't draw it. Not yet. He edged to the side, began making a wide arc that would take him to his vehicle without directly approaching the wolf. He stopped when the wolf cocked its head, rose to its feet and trotted toward the Jeep. It sniffed at the snow by the flat tire, then began to work its way back. Scenting the blood, Nathan assumed. The tension began to leave his shoulders, and he watched as it began to dig through the small drift that had piled beside the rear tire. Then it turned, looked at him, and sat. When Nathan only stared back, the wolf made a chuffing sound, pushed its long nose back into the drift, and nudged. Something small and black rolled out of the drift, leaving—Nathan realized with a strange, swooping sensation in his stomach—specks of pink ice in its wake. The wolf backed up a few yards, then sat again. Slowly, Nathan approached the Jeep. He kept his gaze on the wolf, then dared a glance at the object on the ground. His stomach did another swoop, and for a second he thought his head was going to go with it. He crouched, sitting on his heels, waiting for the light-headedness to pass. It was a thumb, still inside the leather of the glove. He had a fingerprint. Holy shit. Disbelieving, he took off his hat, pushed his hand through his hair. He looked up at the wolf. "What the hell are you?" Its mouth stretched into what Nathan would have sworn was a grin. For an instant, he remembered Emma in Miss Letty's kitchen, joking about becoming a werewolf. God. Was he actually entertaining the idea that this wolf was a human? That it was Emma? He was obviously lacking sleep or caffeine. Shaking the ridiculous thought from his head, Nathan stood. The wolf trotted past him, its shoulder brushing his leg. He watched it break into a lope down the highway, and turned back to the thumb on the ground. He could think about the wolf later. Now, he had a job to do.

*** Fifteen minutes later, Nathan slammed on his brakes when the wolf appeared on the highway shoulder. The Blazer fishtailed before the chains caught and gave him traction. It took a long time for his heart to stop pounding. He climbed out of the truck, pointed at the wolf. "Do you know how dumb that was?" Probably not any less dumb than talking to an animal. And definitely not as stupid as feeling chastised when it gave him a look, then trotted a few yards up the highway. To a logging road. It sniffed at the snow, moved farther off the highway, then looked back at Nathan expectantly. "You're kidding me," he said. The wolf shook its head. Answering him. And there went reality. Nathan trudged forward. "No jury is going to buy this story."

*** Emma was still half-asleep when she heard Nathan come home. She turned, buried her face in her pillow, and listened to Letty ask him about the investigation, the status of the Jeep, and whether he preferred rolls or biscuits with the beef stew she was making. Then she sent him from the kitchen with an instruction to wake the princess who'd slept the day away. The princess thought she deserved all the sleep she'd had. Emma had run more than thirty miles that morning. After she'd left Nathan by the highway, she'd searched through a quarter of the town, trying to track down the murderer by scent. Unfortunately, she hadn't found any sign of him. Nathan didn't knock. She held her breath as he came inside the room, locked the door, and moved to the bed. He pulled off his boots and slipped in next to her, drew her back tight against his chest. "You're awake," he said, his voice low in her ear. She nodded, fighting the sudden need that was tearing through her, the growl that came with it. "We got closer to him today." Nathan shifted slightly, snuck his arm beneath her ribs, hugged her to him. "We found where he pulled off the highway and waited, got the imprint from a tire track. We even got a fingerprint, sent it in to the state lab. Hopefully they'll come up with a match. Any guy with a missing thumb is going to have some explaining to do." Emma forced the need away, found her voice. "It won't be missing for long. It'll grow back. And that story will be a lot harder to sell to a jury than the one you have for this morning." The silence that fell was heavy, painful. Nathan didn't move. She couldn't see him, had no idea what he was thinking. But at least he didn't let her go. Finally, he pulled her closer. His jaw, rough with a day's growth of beard, scratched lightly over her cheek. "This morning, I thought I was

having some kind of spiritual experience. The kind people have a few weeks before they play naked chicken with a train. So if you're saying what I think you're saying, it's a lot less worrying than thinking I've gone crazy." Emma could only nod again, her relief a shuddery ache in her chest. But Nathan didn't let her off the hook. "If you're saying it, Emma, then say it." She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "It was me. This morning, the wolf you saw was me. I showed you which logging road he drove down, and I dug his thumb out of the snow." "Christ." He muffled a laugh against her neck. "You've got one hell of a bite." "Yes. But it also means that he's going to become what I am. Just like I changed after I was bit by that wolf five years ago." His fingers drifted over the unblemished skin at her temple. "You do heal fast. Does it hurt now when I touch you here?" "No." She caught his hand. "It would only hurt if you didn't touch me." "There's no chance of that." His lips ghosted over her ear, her jaw, then her fingers, where she held his hand against her neck. His other arm tightened around her waist. "This is why, five years ago, you didn't come back." "I was afraid," she admitted. "General fear, or are there specifics I should know about?" "There were specifics. I'd lose whole chunks of time, wake up outside. And it was harder to fight myself when I wanted something." Like Nathan. "And I didn't want to accidentally hurt anyone." "But now?" "I learned to control it better. And the more I let it—the wolf—out, the more control I have when I'm human." Unable to help herself, she arched a little, rubbed her bottom against him, then choked out an embarrassed laugh. "But my control still isn't perfect." His hand moved down to her hip, stroked the length of her thigh. "That isn't exactly a turnoff." From the evidence blatantly present, she'd already realized that. Emma let go of his hand, twisted her fingers in the sheets. She didn't have much practice at controlling arousal, but her nails didn't rip the cotton, thank God. Her hips worked back against him and she panted. "We can't." Nathan stilled. "Now, or ever?" "Now. I hear Aunt Letty coming up the stairs." He groaned against her neck. Emma laughed, but it was cut short when he rolled her over, fastened his lips to hers. Oh, God, he tasted so good. Smelled so good. Felt so good. She pushed her fingers into his hair, opened her mouth to the slick heat of his tongue. His hips pushed between her thighs and he rocked forward once, twice; her breath caught on each movement, her body aching for completion. But it wouldn't be now. With a growl that sounded as feral as hers, Nathan lifted himself away, and pushed off the bed. He stood in his khaki uniform pants and shirt, his hair disheveled, his breathing ragged and heavy. Not even a werewolf and he had to fight himself as hard as she did. Warmth swept through her, curved her lips. "Sheriff Studly." She turned onto her side, propped herself up on her elbow. "That does have a better ring to it than Deputy Studly." A teasing nickname she'd given him her first summer here, when they'd met and had an instant, strong connection with each other. But at sixteen, she had been too young for anything except a platonic relationship with a man just out of college. No wonder they'd fallen into the 'we're just friends' rut; both of them, afraid to change and risk the friendship they'd formed that first year. And both of them, longing for that change. And they'd both gotten change in a big way. Nathan dragged a hand over his face, finally looking away from her. "You knew to call me that last night. Letty told you about the election?" "I kept up on the news here." "Well, what they didn't mention was that most people voted me in on name recognition. They saw 'Forrester' and checked the ballot, forgetting that my dad was heading off to Arizona to retire, so they were actually getting Junior." His smile became wry. "The past eighteen months haven't been such a fine addition to his legacy, have they?" Emma sat up. "What does that mean?" "It means there are four women dead, and their murderer is still out there." "So your dad just retired at the right time." She cocked her head, studying him. There was more than just anger and frustration in him, there was shame, too. "So is this why you weren't burning up the highway to Seattle?" He stared back at her. "You tilted your head just like that this morning. Gave me the same damn look." When she didn't answer, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "All right. So I wanted to have something to offer you first." If he'd just walked through her door that would have been enough. But she'd stayed away because she'd had her own demons to fight— demons that he'd easily accepted—and so she couldn't just tell him that his demons didn't matter. She slipped off the bed, rose to her toes to press a quick kiss to his mouth. "So we find him." "We?" "Yes, we. And don't argue," she said when he looked ready to, "because I bit him. That means, right now, he's probably fighting himself. And the urges to do what he craves, what he enjoys—which is apparently raping and killing—will be hard to resist." Nathan watched her, his expression dark. "He'd already been waiting less time between attacks." "So it'll get worse. And then worse, because he'll be stronger, faster. And he'll have new ways of going after the women. And new ways of getting away." "So what do you propose we do?" Emma tapped her finger against her nose. "Sniff him out. I know what he smells like, and this is a small town. I can cover a lot of ground in a night." "I bet." He paused, considering her. "How much did you cover this morning?" She grinned. "Only the houses south of Walnut Street ."

*** Of course, he didn't let her go alone. His Blazer moved slowly down the darkened streets, and from the driver's seat, Nathan watched her flit between the houses, sniffing walkways and doors. Her appearance was raising hell with the dogs in town, more than one running along a backyard fence, barking its head off. He'd have a bevy of noise complaints to deal with tomorrow.

He put in a call to Osborne, who he'd talked into staying at the house with a promise of a home-cooked stew. The deputy reported that Letty had already gone to bed and that he was working through his third bowl. Nathan would probably be rolling him out of there come morning. He watched Emma trot down a side street, staying in the shadows. Now and then she'd lift her nose, smelling the air before shaking her head and continuing on. Nathan sighed, took a swig of coffee. They'd likely be out here for hours. And even if Emma identified the bastard, bringing him in could be tricky. No judge would issue a warrant based on a wolf's sense of smell. With luck, the print from the thumb would do it. But if not, Nathan would have to work backwards, find a solid link in the evidence that could have led him to the murderer's front door. He frowned. Bringing a werewolf in was going to be tricky, regardless. It was just past two when Emma returned to the Blazer, her breath billowing in the freezing air. Nathan leaned over, opened the passenger door. She leapt onto the bench seat, and lay down with a heavy sigh. "Done for the night?" That sense of unreality hit him again. Knowing this wolf was Emma was one thing; talking to her in this shape was another. She looked up at him, turned onto her side. The whine that escaped her sent chills down his spine. Her jaw cracked and bulged. Oh, Jesus. He cut the Blazer's headlights and pulled off to the deserted roadside. He slid toward her on the seat, but didn't touch her for fear that his hands would add to the pain of the transformation. The change took less than a minute but felt like forever; an eternity filled with her whimpers, the groans of her flesh, and his murmurs that he prayed were helping, soothing. Finally she lay naked on the seat, her short hair and skin glistening with sweat. "It's not so bad," she panted. "Once the pain starts, you just ride with it." Speechless, Nathan shook his head. He reached into the back seat for a blanket, tucked it around her shoulders. "Thanks." She gratefully accepted the coffee he offered, raised it to her lips with shaking hands. "I just need another second." She wasn't exaggerating; by the time she'd swallowed the lukewarm drink, her shivers had stopped. She stared unblinkingly out the front windshield, her fingers tapping against the mug. "I get a whiff here and there, but it wasn't concentrated anywhere. I think he must move around the town. Maybe he does repairs, or some kind of work on call." Work was a reality Nathan could get a grip on. "We covered most of the town tonight. It might be he's on one of the farms or rural properties outside of town, and just comes in...for whatever it is he does." "I can start running those properties tomorrow night." Her lips curved. "I'd go during the day, but someone would probably shoot at me." "It might be over by tomorrow anyway, if the state comes back with a name on that print." Emma's nod wasn't too convincing. She was thinking, he imagined, exactly what he had been earlier: arresting a werewolf wasn't going to be easy. She tilted her head back and finished off the coffee, placed the mug carefully in the cup holder. "Did it help—to see me change? Or make it worse?" He didn't even ask how she'd known he was having trouble reconciling his Emma with the wolf. "Helps. I'm not saying I've got my head around it yet. But it helps." "The transformation is grotesque." His gaze ran up her pale, perfectly human legs. "Maybe for a few seconds. What you've got on either end isn't." Her eyes locked with his. "You were afraid to touch me." "I didn't know if it would hurt you." "Oh." Her mouth softened. Her fingers, which had been clutching the blanket at her neck, loosened. "I thought we'd established that it only hurts when you don't." The slice of skin and the pale curves of her breasts showing between the edges of the blanket undid him. Nathan pulled her toward him; she came eagerly, straddling his lap. Her mouth found his, then moved to his jaw, his neck. Her skin was hot beneath his hands. Her fingers worked frantically down the buttons of his shirt. He thought about putting a stop to it. Thought that he'd always intended a bed for her, roses and wine—not the front seat of his truck. But thought that he'd never heard anything sweeter than her soft gasps and moans, nothing sexier than her growl when he slid his fingers down her stomach. Her hips rocked, her back arched, her hands gripping his shoulders. She cried out his name when he pushed inside her. He offered himself to her just as he was, and took her just as she was.

*** Running a hundred miles couldn't have wrung her out as completely. Emma hadn't moved since she'd collapsed against Nathan's chest, her body limp. Didn't want to move. But knew she needed to. With a soft groan, she slid from his lap. Nathan smiled, but he looked as shaken as she felt. Emma reached over the back of the seat for the bag she'd stuffed there before they'd left his house, not even trying to suppress the swelling emotion that constricted her chest, her throat. It was a sweet pain, knowing that it came from the wonder of fitting so perfectly with him. It had been good between them. Better than good. Amazing. Nathan finished buttoning his shirt, shoved the tails into his trousers. "I'll call Osborne, let him know we're heading back. You think Letty will notice if you sleep in my room?" "Yes." Emma fished out her panties and jeans. "But she'll get used to the idea." Actually, Emma would have been surprised if her aunt didn't already think that she and Nathan had been together all those years ago. She listened idly as Nathan spoke with Osborne, to Daisy's faint bark in the background. Emma hurriedly shoved her jeans back down to her ankles. "Oh, my God. Nathan. Get out to your place. As fast as you can. Tell Osborne to get to Letty's room, and take his gun." He didn't ask; he swung the Blazer immediately onto the road, repeated her instructions to Osborne. As she removed her clothes again, she explained. "I can hear Daisy barking. She doesn't do that—she never does that. Except the night after I was bitten. She barked like crazy the first night." Nathan nodded, his lips tight. Despite the two inches of snow that had fallen, a fresh set of tire tracks led down the lane that her aunt shared

with the Forresters. "Oh, shit," Emma whispered, then turned to Nathan. His gaze was fixed on the road. "I'm going to change. I'm faster that way, quieter. He's probably still in human shape." "And he might have a gun," Nathan said grimly. "So don't you think you're going anywhere yet. Emma! Dammit." She heard his curse, the slam of his fist against the steering wheel, then the agonizing crack of her joints as she began her change.

*** Letty's place rose up out of the darkness like a gingerbread house frosted with white icing. Nathan glanced over at Emma, sitting up with her ears pricked forward. "Okay, I agree. You're safer in that form. Harder to argue with, too—which I'm sure you love." Emma turned her head and grinned at him before facing forward again. "There's his truck," he said, unsure if Emma's wolf eyesight had picked out the extended cab pickup parked just off the lane. "He drove past the house. Then did he walk back to Letty's or head out on foot to my place?" Emma gave an uncertain whine. Nathan pulled up behind the truck and drew his weapon. "Stay behind me." He approached the truck slowly and noted the magnetic sign stuck to the door. Fuller's Plumbing. He pictured its owner, Mark Fuller—tall, sandy-haired, easygoing—and shook his head. Jesus Christ. He'd played ball with Fuller in high school. In all the years since, he'd never heard a whisper of trouble connected to Fuller. In a small town like Pine Bluffs, word got around. If Fuller had even looked at a woman strangely, had an argument, or made an unwanted advance, Nathan probably would have heard of it. But Fuller had managed to stay squeaky clean. Footprints led away from the pickup, heading further off the road, into the pine trees. "Do you hear anything from inside the cab?" Emma shook her head. Nathan checked the truck, found it empty. A bandage, crusted with dried blood, lay crumpled on the passenger's seat. What had Fuller thought, Nathan wondered, when the bleeding stopped so quickly? When his thumb had begun to heal over? Did he understand what was happening to him? "This guy has the right smell?" In answer, Emma put her nose to the ground, began following the foot prints. They lead to his place, Nathan realized, jogging beside her. Fuller must have parked here rather than risk anyone at Nathan's house seeing the truck's headlights or hearing the engine. Nathan dialed Osborne's cell, and was putting his phone to his ear when the gunshots cracked through the night. He broke into a run. Emma streaked ahead. He didn't slow to catch his breath when Osborne answered the phone. "Who fired?" Nathan asked. "I did. It's Mark Fuller, hopped up on something. He took off, out of the house." "Injuries?" "Not me or Miss Letty, sir. I hit Fuller but it didn't slow him down." "Did he have a weapon?" "If he did, he didn't use it." All right. "Hold your position. We're coming up on the house now." Or he was. Nathan disconnected, searching for Emma. Her tracks followed the footprints across the wide, moonlit clearing that separated his house from the woods, but he didn't see her or Fuller. He stopped, used the wide trunk and low branches of a pine at the clearing's edge for cover. The shadows around the house were deep; movement near the back porch caught his eye. Fuller. Hunched over, and using an eerie, loping gait that sent prickles of dread down Nathan's spine. That gait didn't look human or wolf, but simply inhuman. Moonlight reflected in Fuller's eyes as he turned his head. He stopped, straightened—and stared directly at Nathan. Nathan held his breath, but his hopes that Fuller had just been searching the tree line and couldn't see him were dashed when he hunched over again and began loping toward him. An eager, hungry growl carried across the clearing. Nathan stepped out of the trees, set his feet, steadily aimed his gun. "Drop to the ground, Fuller! Get down, or I will fire!" The werewolf kept running—grinning, panting. Nathan squeezed the trigger. Blood sprayed the snow behind Fuller's left leg. But he kept on coming. Cold sweat trickled down the back of Nathan's neck; he fired again: an abdomen shot that twisted Fuller to the side, briefly, before the bastard righted himself. If anything, he seemed to run faster. Nathan had time for one more shot. The chest was a bigger target than the head. The head was a kill shot. His next bullet ripped through Fuller's scalp, laid white bone open to the moonlight. He didn't miss a step. Nathan stumbled back, searching for the tree branch. He'd get higher, defend himself from a better position, if he had time. A dark form raced across the clearing and launched at Fuller. Nathan heard the impact of flesh and bone, saw the wave of snow that flew back from the two bodies hitting the ground. Nathan sprinted toward them. Growls filled the air, yips of pain. Emma's? No, Nathan realized with relief as their twisting battle came to a halt. Emma pinned Fuller on his back with her large forepaw pressing into his bloodied chest. Her teeth closed over his throat. Fuller wheezed, his eyes opening wide. He flailed at Emma with his right hand. The thumb was gone, but a tiny protrusion of pink flesh had already begun to grow in its place. Nathan aimed his weapon at Fuller's head. "Don't move, Mark. Just stay still." Fuller obeyed, dropping his fists to the snow at his sides. His chest heaved as he tried to draw in air. His frantic gaze met Nathan's. "Can't...stop." "We'll try to get you help," Nathan promised. But he had a feeling they weren't going to get Fuller out of this field. Madness filled the other man's eyes, and Nathan didn't trust that Fuller would stay down if Emma let him go. But he was staying down now, so Nathan asked, "Did you kill those women? Rape them, and leave them off the highway?" As if in ecstasy, Fuller's eyes rolled back into his head. He ran his tongue over the grin that stretched his lips. "They were...so good. Want

more." Emma's snarl echoed Nathan's own rage. "And what were you planning to do here?" Fuller raised his right hand. "Knew...you'd find...fingerprint. Knew...you'd stop me. I can't...don't want to stop." Nathan shook his head in disbelief. No, he wouldn't have found a match. Fuller had never been charged or booked. His prints wouldn't have been in the system. Fuller's hips lifted and rocked. Emma shifted her grip on his throat. Fuller's voice rose an octave, took on a sing-song rhythm. "But when I came to your house, I smelled her. Oh, Miss Letty, Letty, Letty—" Emma tightened her jaw, cutting off the sick refrain, but the bastard's hips continued to thrust up and down. "Hold still," Nathan ordered. Fuller lowered his hand again, but his other hand moved beneath his waist, pulling out— "Gun, Emma!" Nathan shouted. "Get back!" Her jaws clamped around Fuller's neck as she twisted away. The rip of flesh was drowned by the roar of a gunshot. Emma yelped. Nathan shoved her to the side, stomped his boot into the bloody cavity she'd opened in Fuller's throat. He aimed between the bastard's eyes and fired. Nathan whipped around. Emma lay on the ground, blood spreading over and melting the snow beneath her. "Emma, Emma, Emma." He fell to his knees, lifted her head onto his lap, stroked his hands over her fur, searching. It was a belly shot. Bad. Really bad for most wolves. "Tell me you're going to be okay." He heard the crack, felt her ribs bulge beneath his hands. "Jesus Christ, Emma." He tore out of his coat, covered her with it, held her through the transformation. As soon as she lay panting and sweating in his arms, he said, "I just meant for you to nod your head." She laughed breathlessly, showing him her pale stomach. Blood stained her skin, but the wound had vanished. "Nice trick, huh?" His relief grabbed him by his throat, and took away any response he might have had. He hauled her up, sealed her mouth with his kiss, let her feel every emotion rushing through him. She clung to him, returned everything he gave. He stood and swung her up against his chest, her bare legs dangling over his arm. They stared down at Fuller's body for a silent moment, then Nathan began carrying her toward the house. He took a long breath. "So, in a little while, once we've got everything settled, maybe you'll take a risk with me." She lifted her head to look at him. "Marry you?" His stomach dropped, but there wasn't a bit of him that didn't like the idea. "Well, that, too. But I'm thinking more along the lines of you… biting me." He brushed his lips against her mouth which had fallen open in surprise. "I'd like to run with you." Tears shimmered in her eyes before she buried her face against his neck. "Yes," she said. "Of course it's yes. We can be our own little pack." Her lips kissed his skin; her teeth followed it with a nip. He laughed, pressed his lips over her hair. "Let me get you home first." "I'm with you," she said simply, and her arms tightened around his neck. "So I'm already there." THE END

About the author: Meljean is the bestselling author of the Guardians series and the Iron Seas series. She was raised in the middle of the woods, and hid under her blankets at night with fairy tales, comic books, and romances. Meljean left the forest and went on a misguided tour through the world of accounting before focusing on her first loves, reading and writing–and she realized that monsters, superheroes, and happilyever-afters are easily found between the covers, as well as under them, so she set out to make her own. Meljean lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and daughter. Find out more about Meljean at her website: http://meljeanbrook.com/

GRACE OF SMALL MAGICS Ilona Andrews

"Never look them in the eye." Uncle Gerald murmured. Grace nodded. He'd calmed down some when they had boarded the plane, enough to offer her a reassuring smile, but now as they landed, he turned pale. Sweat gathered at his hairline. Gripping his cane, he scanned the human currents of the airport as they entered the terminal building. His fingers shook on the pewter wolf's head handle. She'd seen him take out a couple of men half his age with that cane, but she doubted it would do them any good now. He cleared his throat, licking his dry lips. "Never contradict. Never ask questions. Don't speak until you're spoken to and then say as little as you can. If you're in trouble, bow. They consider it below them to strike a bowing servant." Grace nodded again. This was the sixth time he recited the instructions to her. She realized it calmed him down, like a prayer, but his trembling voice ratcheted her own anxiety until it threatened to burst into an overwhelming panic. The airport, the booming announcements spilling from the speaker, the crush of the crowd, all of it blended into a smudged mess of colors and noises. Her mouth tasted bitter. Deep inside her a small voice protested, "This is just crazy. This can't be real." "It will be fine," Gerald muttered hoarsely. "It will be fine." They passed the gates into a long hallway. The bag slipped off her shoulder, and Grace pulled it back on. The simple action crested her panic. She stopped. Her heart hammered, a steady heavy pressure pushing on her chest from inside out. A soft dullness clogged her ears. She heard herself breathing. Twelve hours ago she woke up four states away, ate her usual breakfast of an egg and a toasted English muffin, and got ready to go to work, just like she had done every day. Then the doorbell rang and Uncle Gerald was on her doorstep with a wild story. Grace always knew her family was special. They had power. Small magic - insignificant even - but it was more than ordinary people had, and Grace had realized early on she had to hide it. She knew there were other magic users in the world, because her mother had told her so, but she had never met any of them. She'd thought they were like her, armed with minor powers and rare. According to Gerald, she was wrong. There were many other magic users in the world. Families, whole clans of them. They were dangerous, deadly, and capable of terrible things. And one of these clans had their family in bonded service. They could call upon them at any time, and they had done so for years, demanding her mother's assistance whenever they needed it. Three days ago they requested Grace. Her mother had told her nothing; she simply went in her place. But Clan Dreoch called Gerald. They wanted Grace and only Grace. And so she flew to Midwest, still dizzy from having her world turned upside down and listening to Gerald's shaky voice as he told stories of terrible magic. Her instincts screamed to run away, back into the airport filled with people who had no concept of magic. It was just an animal reaction, Grace told herself. The Dreochs had her mother and if she did run, her mother would have to take her place. Grace was twenty six years old. She knew her responsibilities. She had no doubt her mother wouldn't survive whatever they demanded, otherwise they wouldn't have required her presence. Grace knew what she had to do, but her nerves had been rubbed raw, and she simply stood, unable to move, her muscles locked into a rigid knot. She willed her body to obey, but it refused. The crowd of people parted. A man stood at the end of the hallway. He seemed too large somehow, too tall, too broad, and emanating power. He loomed, a spot of otherworldly magic among people who stubbornly ignored his existence. She saw him with preternatural clarity, from ash blond hair falling to his shoulders to the pale green eyes, brimming with mournful melancholy like the eyes of a Russian icon. His was the face of a brute: powerful, stubborn, aggressive, almost savage in its severity. He looked straight at her and in the depths of those green irises she saw an unspoken confirmation: he knew. He knew who she was, why she was here, and more, if she were to turn around and dash away, he wouldn't chase her. The choice was hers and he was content to let her decide. The flow of people blocked him and she reeled, released from the spell of his eyes. Uncle Gerald thrust into her view. "What is it? You have to come now, we can't keep them waiting, we—" She looked at him, suddenly calm. Whatever would be would be. Her family owed a debt. Her mother had been paying it for years, carrying the burden alone. It was her turn. "Uncle," she said, holding on to her new-found peace. "Yes?" "You have to be quiet now. They're here." He stared at her, stunned. Grace shouldered her bag and walked on. They reached the end of the hallway. The man was gone, but Grace didn't worry about it. She headed to the twin slope of escalators. Behind her Gerald mumbled something to himself. They took the escalator down to the baggage claim. "Grace!" The shot laced her ears. She wheeled about and saw her mother on the escalator rising in the opposite direction. Her mother stared at her, a horrified expression stamped on her face. "Mom!" "Grace! What are you doing here?" Mother turned around and clutched the escalator handrail, trying to head down, but two people in grey blocked her. She pushed against them. "Let me through! Gerald, you old fool, what have you done? I've lived my life, she hasn't! She can't do this. Damn it, let me through!" The escalators dragged them in opposite directions. Grace spun around to run up the moving steps and saw the man with green eyes blocking her way. He towered behind her uncle, immovable like a mountain. Green eyes greeted her again. Power coursed through them and vanished, a sword shown and thrust back into its scabbard. Uncle Gerald turned, saw him, and went white as a sheet. They reached the bottom. Three people in grey waited for them, one woman and two men. Grace stepped onto the floor, lightheaded as if in a dream. "I've done... I've done the best I could..." Gerald muttered. "The best. I—"

"You've done wonderfully," the woman said. "Nikita will escort you back to your plane." One of the men stepped up and held out his hand, indicating the escalator heading up. "Please." The green-eyed man stepped past them. His gaze paused on her face. An unspoken command to follow. Grace clenched her teeth. They both knew she would obey, and they both realized she hated it. He strode unhurriedly toward the glass doors. Grace matched her stride to his. She supposed she should have bowed and kept her mouth shut until she was spoken to, but she felt too hollow to care. "You robbed me of what might be my last moment with my mother," Grace said softly. "It couldn't be helped," he answered, his voice quiet and deep. They stepped into sunshine in unison. A black vehicle waited for them, sleek and stylish. The trunk clicked open. Grace deposited her backpack into it. The man held the rear door open for her. Grace took her seat on the leather. The man slid next to her, filling the vehicle with his presence. She felt the warmth of his body and the almost imperceptible brush of his magic. That light touch betrayed him. She glimpsed power slumbering inside him, like an enormous bear ready to be roused and enraged in an instant. It sent shivers down her back, and it took all of her will to not wrench the car door open and run for her life. "You're him." He inclined his head. "Yes." The car pulled away from the curb, carrying them off. Grace looked out of the window. She had made her choice. She was a servant of Clan Dreoch and there was no turning back.

*** The scenery rolled by, scrawny shrubs and flat land, its sparseness mirroring her bleak mood. Grace closed her eyes. A whisper of magic tugged on her. It was polite touch, an equivalent to a bow. She glanced at him. Careful green eyes studied her. "What's your name?" he asked. "Grace." "It's a lovely name. You may call me Nassar." Or Master, she thought and bit the words before they had a chance to escape. "How much do you know?" he asked. "I know that my family owes your family a debt. One of you can call on one of us at any time and we must obey. If we break our oath, you'll murder all of us." She wished she had been told about it sooner, not that it would make any difference at the end. His magic brushed her again and she edged away from it. "What else?" Nassar asked. Say as little as possible. "I know what you are." "What am I?" "A revenant." "And what would that be?" She looked him in the eye. "A man who died and robbed another of his body so he can continue to live." The cursed revenant, Gerald had called him. A body snatcher. An abomination. Monstrously powerful, clouded in vile magic, a beast more than a man. Nassar showed no reaction, but a small ripple in his magic sent her further away from him. She bumped into the door. "Any further and you'll fall out of the car," he said. "Your magic... It's touching me." "If all goes as planned, you and I will have to spend the next few days in close proximity. I need you to become accustomed to my power. Our survival will depend on it" She sensed his magic halt a few inches from her, waiting tentatively. She was a servant; he could force her. At least he permitted her an illusion of free will. Grace swallowed and moved within its reach. His magic brushed her. She winced, expecting his power to mug her, but it simply touched her gently, as if her magic and his held hands. "I won't hurt you," he said. "I know how people in your family see me. Body thief, aberration, murderer. The Cursed One. What I'm called doesn't concern me. Neither I nor my family will torture, rape, or degrade you in any way. I simply have a specific task I need completed. I need you to want to succeed with me. What would make you want to help me?" "Freedom," she said. "Let my family go, and I'll do whatever you ask." He shook his head. "I can't give you permanent freedom. We need your services too much. But I can offer you a temporary reprieve. If you and I succeed, you can go home and I promise not to call on you and yours for six months." "Ten years." "A year." "Eight." "Five." The resolute tone of his voice told her it was his last offer. "Deal," she said softly. "What happens if I fail?" "We'll both die. But, our chances of success will be much better if you stop fearing me." That was certainly true. "I'm not scared of you." His lips curved slightly. "You're terrified." She raised her chin. "The sooner we get done, the faster I can go home. What do you need me to do?" Nassar reached into his jacket and took out a rolled up piece of paper. "In our world disputes between the clans are resolved through war or by arbitration." Grace arched her eyebrow. "How many clans are there?" "Twelve. We're now in dispute with Clan Roar. War is bloody, costly and painful for everyone involved and neither of the families can afford it now. We've chosen arbitration. The issue is pressing and the dispute will be decided through a game." He unrolled the picture and held it. She would have to move closer to him to see it. Grace sighed and moved another three inches to the right. Their thighs almost touched. Nassar showed her the paper. It was an aerial photograph of a city. "Milligan City," Nassar said. "Squarely in the middle of the rust belt. A couple of decades ago it was a busy town, a blue-collar haven. Good life, family values."

"Defined future," she said. He nodded. "Yes. Then the conglomerates shifted their operations overseas. The jobs dried up, the real estate values plummeted, and the residents fled. Now Milligan's population is down forty two percent. It's a ghost city, with all the requisite ghost city problems: abandoned houses, squatters, fires and so on." He tapped the paper. "This particular neighborhood is completely deserted. The city council's getting desperate. They've relocated the last of the stragglers to the center of the city and condemned this neighborhood. In nine days it will be bulldozed down to make way for a park. The arbitration will take place here." "When I think of arbitration, I think of lawyers," Grace said. "Both sides present their case and argue to a third party." "Unfortunately this case isn't something that can be settled through litigation," Nassar answered. "Think of it in this way: instead of having a large war, we decided to have a very small one. The rules are simple. This area of the city was warded off from the rest, hidden in the cocoon of magic and altered. It's been officially condemned, so no others are allowed near it. Those who try are firmly discouraged, but if someone does make it through, to their eyes the area will appear as it always was." She chewed on that others. Normal, non-magical people. He said it in the way one might refer to foreigners. "Arbitration by game is a big event. By last count, representatives of ten clans have shown up for the fun. Two weeks were allowed to each clan who so wished to dump whatever hazards they could manage into this space. It's full of things that go bump in the night." "The other clans don't like you," she said. "None of the clans like each other. We compete for territory and business. We have wars and bloody battles. And it will be up to you and me to help us avoid such a war this time." He touched the photograph. "Somewhere in the zone the arbitraries hid a small flag. Two teams will enter the game zone to retrieve the flag, while the rest of the clansmen will bet on the outcome and enjoy their popcorn. Whoever touches the flag first will win and be ported out of the zone. Whether the flag is retrieved or not, in three days' time the wards will constrict, sweeping anything magic from the area into its center. The pyromancers will destroy it in a preternaturally hot bonfire, while the locals blissfully sleep." "Are we one of the teams?" "Yes." Now she understood. Mother was almost fifty and overweight. She wouldn't be able to move fast enough. They needed someone younger and she fit the bill. "Will the rival team try to kill us?" Another light smile touched his lips. "Most definitely." "I don't have any offensive magic." "I'm sure," he said. "You're entirely too polite for that." It took her a moment to catch the pun. "I'm a dud. I sense magic and I can do small insignificant things, but I can't foretell the future like my mother and I haven't been trained as a fighter, like Gerald. For all practical purposes, I'm the other, a completely ordinary person. I've never fired a gun, I'm not exceptionally athletic, and my strength and reflexes are average." "I understand." "Then why do you need—" Magic stabbed her, cold and sharp, wrenching a startled gasp from her. Her eyes watered from pain. "Lilian!" Nassar barked. "Go!" The chauffer mashed a square button on her dashboard. The roof of the vehicle slid aside. A dark sheath coated Nassar. The pain pierced Grace's ribs, slicing its way inside. Nassar jerked her to him. She collided with the hard wall of his chest, unable to breathe. The dark sheath flared from him, filling the vehicle in long protrusions, shaping into a multitude of pale feathers. "Hold on!" Nassar snarled. Grace threw her arms around his neck and they shot straight up, into the sky. Wind rushed at her. The pain vanished. She looked down and almost screamed – the car was far below. "Don't panic." The flesh of Nassar's neck crawled under her fingers, growing thicker. She turned to him and saw a sea of feathers and high above huge raptor jaws armed with crocodile teeth. Her arms shook with the strain of her dead weight. "It's okay," the monster reassured her in Nassar's voice. Her hold gave. For a precious second, Grace clung to the feathers, but her fingers slipped. She dropped like a stone. Her throat constricted. She cried out and choked as a huge claw snapped closed about her stomach. "Grace?" The feathered monster bent his neck. A round green eye glared at her. She sucked the air into her lungs and finally breathed. "Your definition of okay has problems." The wind muffled her voice. "What?" he bellowed. "I said, your definition of okay has problems!" The ground rolled past them, impossibly far. She clenched her hands on the enormous scaly talons gripping her. "Is there any chance that this could be a dream?!" "I'm afraid not!" Her heart hammered so hard, she was worried it would jump out of her chest. "What was it?" "Clan Roar – our opponents in the game. Or one of their agents, to be exact. They're not dumb enough to attack you directly. Once the game is scheduled, all hostilities between the participants must cease. Interference of this sort is forbidden." "What about Lilian?" "She can take care of herself." Grace shivered. "Why would they be attacking me in the first place?" "You're my defense. If they kill you, I'll have to withdraw from the game." "That sounds ridiculous! You're the revenant and I can't even defend myself." "I'll explain everything later. We're beyond their range now and we'll arrive soon. Try to relax!" She was clutched in the talons of a monstrous creature, who was really a man trying to rescue her from a magical attack by flying hundred of feet above solid ground. Relax. Right. "I serve a madman," she muttered. Far beyond the fields, an empty piece of the horizon shimmered and drained down, revealing a dark spire. Tower Dreoch, Uncle Gerald had called it. He'd said the Dreochs lived in a castle. She thought he'd exaggerated. Nassar careened, turning, and headed to the tower.

*** They circled the tower once, before Nassar dived to a balcony and dropped her into a waiting group of people below. Hands caught her and she was gently lowered to the ground. In the overcast sky, Nassar swung upward and swooped down. The group parted. A dark-skinned woman grasped Grace by her waist and pulled her aside with the ease one picked up a child. Nassar dove down. His huge talons skidded on the balcony and he tumbled into the room beyond. Feathers swirled. He staggered up. "Leave us." People fled past her. In a moment the room was empty. Grace hugged herself. Up there, in the evening sky, the cold air had chilled her so thoroughly, even her bones felt iced over. Her teeth still chattered. She stepped to the double doors and shut them, blocking off the balcony and the draft with it. The large rectangular room was simply but elegantly furnished: a table with some chairs, a wide bed with a gauzy blue canopy, a bookcase, some old, solidly built chairs before the fireplace. A couple of electric table lamps radiated soft yellow light. An oriental silk rug covered the floor. Nassar slumped in front of the fireplace. Bright orange flames threw highlights on his feathers, making them almost golden in the front. His feathers seemed shorter. His jaws no longer protruded quite as much. Grace crossed the carpet and stood before the fire, soaking in the warmth. It all seemed so dream-like. Unreal. "This will be your room for the next couple of days," he said. "You have no idea how strange this is to me," she murmured. His smart eyes studied her. "Tell me about it?" "In my world people don't turn into... into this." She indicated him with her hand. His feathers definitely were shorter now. He'd shrunk a little. "People don't fly unless they have a glider or some sort of metal contraption with an engine designed to help them. Nobody tries to murder someone through magic. Nobody has mysterious castles masquerading as empty fields." A careful knock interrupted her. "It's your room," Nassar murmured. "Come in," she called. A man entered, pushing a small trolley with a teakettle, two cups, a dish of sugar, a ewer of cream, and a platter with assorted cookies. As he passed her, she saw a short sword in a sheath at his waist. "Your sister suggested tea, sir." "Very thoughtful of her." The man left the trolley, smiled at her, and departed. Grace poured two cups of tea. "I suppose in your world people don't drink tea either?" he asked. "We drink tea," she said with a sigh. "We just don't always have servants armed with swords to bring it. Cream?" "Sugar and lemon, please." Nassar had returned to his normal size. The feathers were mere fur now, and his face was bare and completely human. "What's happening with your feathers?" "I'm consuming them to replenish some of my energy. Transformations such as this are difficult even for me." He sank into a chair, took a cup from her with furry fingers, and sipped from it. "Perfect. Thank you." "I live to serve." His lips curved into a familiar half-smile. "Somehow I deeply doubt it." Grace sat into the other chair and sipped shockingly hot tea, liberally whitened by cream. Liquid heat flowed through her. His magic brushed her again, but she had flown over miles bathed in it and she accepted his touch without protest. She was so very tired. "This is a dream. I'll wake up, and all of this will be gone. And I'll go back to my quiet little job." "What is it you do?" Grace shrugged. He knew, of course. His clan had been keeping tabs on their family for years. When you own something, you want to pay attention to its maintenance. He probably knew what size underwear she wore and how she preferred her steak. "Why don't you tell me?" "You're a headhunter. You find jobs for others. Do you like it?" "Yes. It's boring at times and stressful, but I get to help people." "You didn't know about your family's debt, did you?" he asked. "No." She refilled her cup. "When did you find out?" "Three days ago." "Was it sudden?" "Yes," she admitted. "I always knew about magic. I was born able to feel it. At first I was told I was a very sensitive child, and then, once I was old enough to realize I needed to keep it to myself, more complicated explanations followed. I live in a world of very small magics. I can sense if I'll miss the bus. In school, I could usually foretell my grade on tests, but I could never predict anything else accurately. If I concentrate very hard, I can scare animals. A dog once tried to chase me, and I was frightened and sent it running." She drank again. "Small things, mostly useless. I thought that all magic users were like me. Working their little powers in secret. I never imagined people could fly in the open. Or walk through crowded airports without being seen. My mother is a fabric buyer. My uncle's a mechanic who really likes weapons. My dad's normal in every way. My mother and he divorced when I was eighteen. He runs a shift at a tire repair plant." Grace drank more tea. Her head was fuzzy. She was so comfortable and warm in the soft chair. "When Uncle Gerald told me this half-baked story about blood debt, I didn't believe him at first." "What convinced you?" "He was terrified. Uncle Gerald is like a rock in the storm: always cool under pressure. I've never seen him so off-balance." She yawned. She was so drowsy. "I think my mother hoped I would never have to do this." "I can see why," Nassar said softly. "We live in constant danger. I would think any mother would want to shield her child from us." "I would." Drowsiness overtook her. Grace set the cup down and curled into a ball in the chair. "Even though your world is so..."

She vaguely saw him rise from his chair. He picked her up, his magic cloaking about her. She should have been alarmed, but she had no resolve left. "So?" "So magical." He drew the canopy aside and lowered her onto the bed. Her head touched the pillow and reality faded.

*** Nassar stepped out of the room, gently closing the door behind him. Alasdair waited in the hallway, a lean sharp shadow, with a robe draped over his arm. Nassar took it from him and shrugged it on, absorbing the last of his feathers. His whole body hurt from too much magic expended too quickly. Walking was like stepping on crushed glass. "Is she asleep?" Alasdair asked. Nassar nodded. They walked down the hall together. "She's pretty. Chestnut hair and chocolate eyes - a nice combination." She was also calm under pressure, smart, and willful. When she looked at him with those dark eyes, Nassar felt the urge to say something intelligent and deeply impressive. Unfortunately, nothing of the kind came to mind. It seemed her eyes also had a way of muddling his thoughts. The last time he felt that dumb was about fourteen years ago. He'd been eighteen at the time. "You like the girl," Alasdair offered. Nassar leveled a heavy gaze at him. "Lilian said you tried to be funny in the car. I told her it couldn't possibly be true. The moment you try to make a joke, the sky shall split and the Four Horsemen will ride out, heralding Apocalypse." "How droll. Did you double the patrols?" Alasdair nodded his dark head and stopped by the ladder. Nassar walked past him, heading to his rooms. "Did you?" Alasdair called. "Did I what?" "Did you joke with the girl?" Nassar kept walking. "Did she laugh?" Alasdair called. "No." Nassar entered his room. He hadn't expected her to laugh. He was grateful she didn't collapse in a hysterical heap. Her uncle had been scared to within an inch of his life – fear had rolled off of him in waves. In Gerald's life of some fifty odd years his services had been requested only twice, but the second time had scarred him for life. In the zone he would be useless. Grace's mother, Janet, was always meticulous and formal. She took no initiative. Working with her was like being in a presence of an automaton who obeyed his every order while being grimly determined to dislike it. Taking her into the zone, even if he could compensate for her age and health, would be suicide. He was never comfortable with any of them. He was never comfortable with the whole idea of the bonded servant and took pains to avoid requesting their presence. But this time he had no choice. Working with Grace presented its own set of difficulties. He could still remember her scent: the light clean fragrance of soap mixing with the faint rosemary from her dark hair. His memory conjured the feel of her body pressed against his and when he'd picked her up to place her on the bed, he hadn't wanted to let go. He wasn't an idiot. There was an attraction there, and he would have to manage it very carefully. The imbalance of power between the two of them was too pronounced: he was the master and she was the servant. Don't think about it, he told himself. Don't

imagine what it would be like. Nothing can happen. Nothing is going to happen. She's off-limits.

*** Grace followed the servant into a spacious atrium. Morning sun shone through the glass panels in the ceiling. The stone path wound between lush greenery, parallel to a stream lined with smooth river pebbles. Spires of bamboo rose next to fichus and ferns. Delicate orchids in a half a dozen shades dotted the moss-covered ground. Red kafir lilies bloomed along the stream's banks, echoed by paler blossoms of camellia bushes. The air smelled sweet. The path turned, parting, and Grace saw the origin of the stream: a ten foot waterfall at the far wall. The water cascaded over huge grey boulders into a tiny lake. Near the shore stood a low coffee table surrounded by benches. A dark-haired man lounged on the bench to the left, sipping tea from a large cup. Nassar stood next to him, talking softly. He wore blue sweatpants and light-grey t-shirt. A towel hung over his shoulder and his pale hair was wet and brushed back from his face. Poised like this, he appeared massive. Muscles bulged on his chest when he moved his arm to underscore a point. His biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirt. His legs were long. Everything about him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the way he carried himself —controlled and aware of his size —communicated raw physical power. His wasn't the static bulk of a power weightlifter, but rather the dangerous, honed build of a man who required muscle to survive. If a genius sculptor were to carve a statue and name it Strength, Nassar would've made a perfect model. He glanced at her. His green eyes arrested her and Grace halted, suddenly realizing she wanted to know what he would look like naked. The thought shocked her. Something in her face must've equally shocked him, because he fell silent. A torturous second passed. She forced herself to move. Nassar looked away, resuming his conversation.

I can't be attracted to him. He forced me to come here and risk my life and I don't even know why. I know nothing about him. He's a monster. That last thought sobered her up. She approached the benches.

"Grace," Nassar said. His magic brushed her. "This is Alasdair, my cousin." Alasdair unfolded himself from the bench. "Charmed." "Hello." Grace nodded at Alasdair, then turned to Nassar. "You drugged my drink." "Actually I drugged the cream," he said, "and technically it was my sister who did it." "Why?" "You were in shock. I wanted to spare you the break down and anxiety when you came out of it." Grace held herself straight. "I would appreciate it if you didn't do it again. We have a deal. I'll keep my part, but I can't do it if I have to watch what I eat and drink." Nassar considered it for a long moment. "Agreed." "A deal?" Alasdair's eyebrows crept up. His was lean and sharp, his movements quick. His stare had an edge. If Nassar was a sword, Alasdair was a dagger. "I've agreed to do my best to help you, and in return, you'll leave my family alone for five years," Grace said. Alasdair grimaced at Nassar. "That's incredibly generous, considering what they've done. We owe them nothing." Nassar shrugged his massive shoulders. "It's worth the reward to have her full cooperation." Grace took a seat on the bench. "What did we do exactly?" "You don't know?" Alasdair passed her a plate of scones. "No." The dark-haired man glanced at Nassar, who shrugged. "You tell it." "At the end of the nineteenth century your family and our clan were in dispute," Alasdair said. Grace was learning to decipher their code. "In other words, we were murdering each other." "Precisely. The dispute grew out of control and so our families agreed to end it. The peace was to be sealed through a wedding. Jonathan Mailliard of your family was to marry Thea Dreoch." "He was your great grandfather's brother," Nassar supplied. "The wedding went well," Alasdair continued. "There was a very nice reception in one of Mailliard gathering halls, a beautiful old hotel. Everyone ate, drank, and was merry. The couple went upstairs, to their rooms, where Jonathan pulled out a knife and slit Thea's throat." Grace froze with a scone halfway to her mouth. She had expected something of this sort. To force her family into indefinite servitude, the crime had to be horrible. But it still shocked her. "He waited for almost two hours by her cooling corpse," Alasdair continued. "Until the party died down. Then he and several Mailliard men and women went through the hotel door to door. They murdered Thea's sister, her husband, and their twin daughters who were flower girls at the wedding. They killed Thea's parents and her two brothers, both minors, and would've slaughtered the entire party, but they were seen by a Dreoch retainer, who started screaming. Our offensive magic was always stronger and we were inside your family's defenses. There was a bloodbath. Every member of the Mailliard family was killed, except Thomas Mailliard, who was fourteen at the time. He hid in a closet and wasn't discovered until later in the day, when the butchery had stopped. Because Thomas was a child and hadn't participated in the slaughter, he was given a choice: death or servitude for all of his descendants. And that's why you now serve us." Grace sat in a sickened silence. "Anything to say?" Alasdair asked. "That's very horrible," she said. "Yes, it is." "However, I never knew Jonathan Mailliard. I didn't even know his name. I feel awful about the murder and I understand that my family bears responsibility, but I never killed anyone. I've never hurt you and neither has my mother, my uncle or my great grandfather, who hid in the closet." She tried to make her voice sound calm and reasonable. "I've done you no harm, yet you limit my freedom and force me to risk my life because of a crime perpetrated a century ago by someone I've never met. Our family has served yours for over a hundred years. At some point this debt will have been repaid. When do you think will that be?" "Never," Alasdair said. It felt like a slap. She looked to Nassar. "So this is how you do things? You dumped all of the blame for a bloody feud onto a fourteen year old child who hid in a closet, and because he's failed to stop grown men from killing, you keep his descendants in perpetual servitude?" "Hardly perpetual," Nassar corrected. "Since I assumed the responsibility for the clan fifteen years ago, I've called on your family only four times." "But we know we can be called at any point. We have to live with the knowledge that on a moment's notice we might be required to risk our life for a complete stranger for no reason and we might never see our loved ones again. We can't refuse. The terms are obedience or death. Would you want to live like this?" "No," Nassar admitted. "Can you tell me when the debt will be paid?" she asked. "This arrangement is to our advantage," Nassar said. "It makes no sense for us to release you." "I see. I'll have to release us then." "Really?" Alasdair gave a short barking laugh. "How exactly are you planning on doing that?" "My uncle has no offspring and I'm my mother's only child. To my knowledge, I'm the last of Mailliards. I'll have to make sure that I don't continue the line." She rose. "I think I've seen the washroom on the way here. I really need to splash some water on my face." "Second door on the right," Nassar told her. "Excuse me." Grace walked away. Her knees shook a little in her jeans. Her face burned.

*** Nassar watched Grace's figure retreat down the winding path. "Wow," Alasdair offered. "Yes."

"Think she'll do it?" "She's a Mailliard." He'd seen the same steely resolve in her mother's eyes, Nassar reflected. He suspected it was the same will that drove the wedding night atrocities a century ago. It enabled her mother, Janet, to grimly bear her service, and fueled Grace's fight against it. He doubted she would ever go into outright rebellion, not while her mother and Gerald were alive, but he could tell by the way she held herself, by her face and her eyes and her voice, that she would rather give up her future children than bring them into Dreoch's "service." "You like her," Alasdair said. "What of it?" "Why don't you make a move?" The imbalance of power between them was too great and her antipathy and contempt for Dreoch was painfully obvious. Nassar took the towel off his shoulder and sat on the bench. "Because she can't say no."

*** When Grace returned, Alasdair was gone. Nassar sat alone. It was easier if she simply admitted it, Grace decided. Sometimes you see another person in passing, your eyes meet, and you know by some instinct that there is something there. She felt that something for Nassar. It was wrong on so many levels, her head reeled from simply contemplating it. He was a revenant, a creature more than a man. Her great grandfather's brother slaughtered his relatives. His family held hers in bondage. If he really wanted her, he could simply order her to submit. Maybe it was some sort of twisted version of Stockholm syndrome. Or an animal attraction. He was... not handsome exactly, but very male. Powerful. Masculine. Strong. But there was more to it: the sadness in his eyes, the courteous way he managed himself, the feel of his magic. It pulled her to him and she would have to be very careful to keep her distance. "You still haven't told me what you need me to do," she said. He rose. "Walk with me, please." Grace followed him down the path deeper into the atrium. Nassar led her out through an arched door and into a large round chamber. Bare, it was lit by sunlight spilling through a skylight very high above. A thick metal grate guarded the skylight. Plain concrete made up the floor, showing a complicated geometric pattern with a circle etched into its center. Nassar stood on its edge. "When a revenant takes a new body, he gains great power but he also inherits the weaknesses of that body. The body I took was cursed. After I transferred into it, I was able to heal the damage and break the curse. But all of my invulnerability to the curse is gone. I've used it all up." "And the man who was born in this body? What happened to him when you took it?" "He died," Nassar said. She'd hoped he wouldn't say that. A woman entered the chamber through the door in the opposite wall. A pale blond like Nassar. She smiled at them. Nassar didn't quite smile back, but the melancholy of his face eased slightly. "This is Elizavetta. My sister." "Call me Liza," she said. "Everyone does" "Grace," Grace said simply. "You're the one who drugged the cream." Liza nodded. "Yes. Alasdair warned me I may have earned your undying hate for it. I sincerely hope we can put it past us. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings in any way." "Given that I'm a servant, my feelings are hardly relevant, but I appreciate it," Grace said. Liza blinked. An uncomfortable silence ensued. Nassar cleared his throat. "Liz?" "Yes, right." Liza stepped inside the design. "Every revenant has a fatal weakness," Nassar said, his gaze fixed on his sister. "This is mine." Liza arched her back, spreading her arms. Her hands clawed the air. She spun in a place, twisting. Magic pulsed from her and filled the lines etched on the floor with pale yellow light. Liza brought her hands together, cried out, and forced them apart with a pained grimace. A clump of mottled darkness appeared between her fingers. She stepped back. The clump spun, growing, and ruptured, vomiting a creature into the circle. The beast was three feet long and slender, shaped like a slug or a leech except for the fringe of carmine feathery hairs along its sides. A patina of grey and sickly yellow swirled over its dark hide, like an oil rainbow on the surface of a dark puddle. The creature shivered. The red fringe trembled and it took to the air, sliding soundlessly a foot off the ground. A cold foul magic emanated from it. It touched Grace. She jerked back and bumped into Nassar. "What is that?" He put his hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "A marrow worm. They live in dark places, where there is stagnant water and decay. They feed on small animals, fish, and old magic." The worm hovered behind the glowing outline of the circle. Its head was blunt and as it rose up, testing the boundaries of its invisible cage, Grace saw a slit of a mouth lined with sharp serrated teeth on its underside. Liza approached the worm. The creature shied away, sliding as close to the glowing lines as it could. "Think of them as germs. Most people have a natural resistance to them, an immunity. I don't. To me, they're fatal. We did our best to keep this fact to ourselves, but I have no doubt Roars know it. They would be fools not to. Unfortunately, marrow worms are easy to summon." He'd stepped behind her and she was painfully sensitive to the presence of his large body only an inch from her back. His magic touched her. Her every nerve shivered, hyper-aware of his movements. She sensed him lean to her and almost jumped when his quiet voice spoke into her ear. "Do you remember when you sent that dog running? I want you to do that again." Grace swallowed. "I don't remember what I did. It just happened." His big hand pushed against her back gently, making her take a step toward the circle. "Try." Grace took a deep breath and stepped over the glowing lines inside the circle. The worm jerked away from her like a wet ribbon. Grace glanced at Nassar. "That's just normal resistance to humans. Keep trying." Grace stared at the worm twisting. Go away, she thought. Gone. I want you gone.

The worm remained where it was. Grace glanced at Liza. "Any idea what I'm supposed to be doing?" Nassar's sister shook her blonde head. "None. Dreochs are aggressors. We have few defensive abilities and they're radically different from yours. Mostly our defenses consist of Nassar hacking at things with something large and sharp." "The magic you're trying to do is called the Barrier," Nassar said. "It's one of the natural Mailliard's magics. Very talented members of your family used it both as defense and as a weapon. Your mother stated that it can't be taught. You simply do it or you don't." Grace focused on the worm and tried to pretend it was a large, mean-looking German shepherd. An hour later she sat exhausted on the floor. The worm floated at the edge of the design. "It's useless." Liza unscrewed a cap from a fresh bottle of water. She had gotten a cooler with drinks, migrated to the wall, and now sat on the floor. "Why Janet didn't practice with Grace is beyond me, but she didn't. We'll have to change the plan. Instead of you and Grace, I'll go with Alasdair." "No." Steel laced Nassar's voice. He leaned against the wall. "You're being unreasonable." Nassar's face was dark like a storm. "Both of you will die. I have resistances and power to counter Roar's attacks. You don't." "You can't counter this one." He didn't answer. "Why don't you just turn into a bird and fly through the zone?" Grace asked. "Flight is forbidden in the game," Nassar answered. Liza sighed. "Grace, would you like some water?" "Yes." Liza tossed her a new bottle. "Thank you." Grace caught it. "Why are you fighting Roars anyway? What's this dispute about?" "It's about children," Nassar said. "And killing me." "Our aunt married a member of clan Roar," Liza said. "Arthur Roar. He turned out to be a wart on the ass of the human kind. Abusive, violent, cruel. She left after eight years and took their three kids with her." "Should've left sooner," Nassar said. His green eyes promised violence, the light irises so cold that Grace took a small step back. "She had her reasons for staying," Liza said. "There was a large dowry involved and she didn't want us to have to pay restitution and interest. But in the end it was just too much. After Arthur broke his son's legs, she grabbed the kids and came home. Now, nine years later, Arthur suddenly wants his children back." Liza took a drink from her bottle. "He's never shown any interest in them. No calls, no letters, not even a card. He's done nothing to support them. But Aunt Bella signed the wedding agreement that specified equal amount of time with the children for each parent in the event of separation. Arthur claims that since the kids were with her exclusively for nine years, now he has exclusive rights to them." "He doesn't give a damn about the kids. It's an excuse for the Roars to test the waters," Nassar said. "They have a couple of strong people and they're thinking of moving in on our interests. Before they do it, they want to weaken us. They knew that if they challenged the clan, I would enter the game, and they believe they have a reasonable chance of killing me. They'll knock out Dreoch's biggest power user and earn respect from other clans for killing a revenant and they will do it all before the war ever starts." He pushed from the wall. "It's almost time for lunch. Let's take a break."

*** The lunch was laid out on a long table in a vast dining hall. Nassar held out a chair for Grace and she sat down. He took a place to her right, while Liza sat down at her left, next to Alasdair. Other people came into the room – two men and three women. They took their seats, nodded and smiled, started conversations in calm voices. Alastair said something and a woman laughed. They were so at ease and the warmth of their interaction began to thaw Grace's resolve. The four chairs directly opposite her remained empty. She wondered who would sit there and a couple of minutes later she had her answer. Three children entered the room, followed by a pale woman. Of course. Nassar arranged it so she would spend the meal looking at the faces of the children whose fate would be decided in the game. They took the seats: the woman with careworn eyes, a young boy with wild mass of dark hair, and two girls, one slender and blonde and the other only about ten or so, a kid with short dark hair and big blue eyes. The youngest girl saw Nassar and came grinning around the table. "Hug?" she asked him seriously. "Hug," he agreed and put his massive arms around her. "And no dying," she reminded him. He let go and nodded. The girl noticed her. "Hi. I'm Polina." It was impossible not to smile back. "Hi. I'm Grace." "You're supposed to protect Nassar," Polina said. "That's what he tells me." The child looked at her with her blue eyes. "Please don't let him die," she said softly. "I like him a lot." "I'll try my best." Polina went around the table to her seat. Grace leaned to Nassar and whispered, "Laying it on a little thick, don't you think?" "I didn't put her up to it," he told her. She glanced into his green eyes and believed him. The lunch went on. Dishes were brought and passed around the table: roast beef and mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, iced tea and lemonade. The food was delicious, but Grace ate little. Mostly she watched the children. The boy leaned to his mother, making sure her cup was filled. The older girl seemed on the verge of tears. She became more and more agitated, until finally, just as peach cobbler made its way past Grace, the girl dropped her fork. Her voice rang out. "What if they win?" The table fell quiet. "They won't," Nassar said calmly.

"If Arthur touches us, I'll kill him." Steel vibrated in the boy's voice. Their mother leaned her elbows on the table and rested her forehead on her hands. "No. You're not strong enough," she told him in a dull voice. "Not yet. You must do whatever it takes to survive." "That's enough." Nassar's magic surged out, spreading behind him like invisible wings. It brushed against Grace. Breath caught in her throat. So much power... Nassar fixed the children with his stare. "You're our kin. You belong to Clan Dreoch. Nobody will take you from us. Anyone who tries will have to go through me." With his power rising above the table, the prospect of going through him seemed impossible. His magic was staggering. It would take an army. The anxiety slowly melted from the children's faces.

*** "Let's try again," Nassar said, as the two of them strode back into the room. The worm still floated in the circle. Grace stepped inside. It shied from her. "Why did you tell the children about the curse?" "I won't lie to them. The possibility of defeat exists and they have to be prepared." That defeat seemed very likely at the moment. "But I will fight to the death to keep them safe. And even if I lose, the clan won't surrender them. We will go to war. We won't turn over children to a man who will break their bones." Neither would she. It didn't matter who they were. A child was a child. She couldn't let them suffer, not after watching them near panic with fear of having to leave their mother. Their family and their home, all would be ripped away if Nassar and she lost. "Now do you understand why I fight?" he asked her softly. She nodded. "I need your help desperately. Please help me, Grace." "I wish I could," she said, her voice filled with regret. Nassar watched her for a long moment. "What do you remember about your encounter with the dog? What did you feel?" Grace frowned. "It was twelve years ago. I remember being scared for myself. And for the dog. He was my friend's dog. I knew that if he bit me, he would be put down." Nassar strode to her, a determined look on his face. "What are you doing?" Nassar kept coming. She realized he was going to cross the line. "Liza isn't here to save you!" "No." He gave her the familiar half smile. "Only you can save me now." Nassar stepped over the line. The worm streaked to him. It skimmed the surface of his magic and clamped onto his shoulder. Nassar's magic shrunk. He staggered and ripped the worm off. Grace cried out. The worm flipped in the air and slid over him. Nassar tried to knock it off, but it slipped past his hands and leeched onto his side. Nassar gasped. His face went bloodlessly white. He spun, tripping over his feet, pulling at the writhing body, and stumbled to her. The worm slithered from his fingers and swooped down on him. Nassar fell. Grace lunged forward. She meant to thrust herself in front of it, but instead magic pulsed from her in a controlled, short burst. The worm hurtled back, swept aside. She pushed harder and the worm convulsed, squeezed between the press of her power and the glowing lines. "Nassar?" She knelt by him. "Nassar, are you okay?" Nassar's green eyes looked at her. His nose bled. He wiped away his blood with the back of his hand. "Protective instinct," he said. "You've done it." It felt so right. As if the pressure straining at her from the inside suddenly found an outlet. So that's what she's been missing. All these years, she had suspected there was something more to the magic coursing through her and now she finally found it. "I guess I did," she murmured. "Were you scared for me?" "Yes. How could you have done that? That was so reckless. What if I couldn't save you?" "I hoped you could," he said. The way he looked at her made her want to kiss him. "Your family is free," he said. "What?" "I've let Clan Mailliard go," he said. "I've signed the order before lunch." She sank to the floor. "Why?" He sat up. "Because I decided that's not what I do. I don't force people to fight our battles. I don't want to be the man who blames children for their parents' mistakes. And I don't want you to be the last of the Mailliards. Whether you have children should be your choice alone. I don't want to take it away from you." It slowly dawned on her. "So I'm free?" "Yes." She stared at him. "You don't even know me. I could just take off right now and leave you here to deal with the game on your own. Do you have any idea how scared I am? I don't want to die." "Neither do I." He gave her another sad smile. She hung her head, torn. She was deeply, deeply afraid. But walking away from the children wasn't in her. She wouldn't be able to look herself in the eye. It was as if they stood in the road with a semi hurtling at them at full speed. What kind of person wouldn't push them out of the harm's way?

"I should practice more," she said. "We're going to need another worm then," Nassar said. She glanced at the beast. It lay dead, sliced in a half. "You killed it," he told her. "Sometimes the Barrier magic can also become a blade." "But I don't even know how I've done it." "We don't need to worry about that now," he said. "As long as you can defend me, we should be fine."

*** Three days later Grace stood in the middle of the street in Millighan City, hugging herself as the sun set slowly. Nassar loomed next to her. Behind them unfamiliar people moved, their magic shifting with them, their clothes color-coded by their clan: grey and black for Dreoch, green for Roar, red for Madrid. Nassar explained the rest of the colors, but she couldn't recall any of it. The anxiety pulsated through her with every heart beat. Ahead a seemingly empty stretch of a suburban street rolled into the sunset. The round, red sun hung low above the horizon, a glowing brand upon the clouds. Familiar magic brushed her and a heavy hand touched her shoulder gently. Nassar. He wore grey pants tucked into military boots. A longsleeved shirt hugged his arms and over it he wore a leather vest that wanted very much to be called armor. She wore the same outfit. The leather fitted her loosely enough not to be constricting, but tight enough not to get in the way. "Don't worry," Nassar said. Her gaze slid to the large axe strapped to his waist. She touched her own blade, a long narrow combat knife. Gerald had taught her the basics of knife-fighting a long time ago but she'd never been in a real fight. A male voice rose to the side. "Can he bring a servant into the game?" It took a moment to sink in. Of course, her status would be public knowledge among them, but it still cut her like a knife. She turned. A group of people stood on the side. Five of them wore dark blue robes. The arbitrators, she remembered from Nassar's explanations. An older female in the arbitrator robe regarded her with serious grey eyes. "If you want to withdraw, you may do so now," the woman said. She could withdraw. She could simply refuse to go in. If she did, Nassar would be doomed. He had already committed to the game and she knew he couldn't simply substitute someone else in his place. He wouldn't. Overnight, her fears had grown into near panic. Now she could walk away from them. Grace looked at the gathering of the clansmen. Her family used to be a clan. Her people should have stood right here. Instead the clansmen viewed her as a servant. Pride spiked in her. She had as much right to be here as anybody else. The vague feeling of unease that had eaten at her ever since Nassar had transformed into a bird crystallized and she finally understood it: it was envy. Envy of the magic used freely. Envy of knowledge. Circumstances had jettisoned her out of this world, but she refused to stay locked out. Grace drew herself to her full height. "Why in the world would I want to withdraw?" A red-haired man in Roar's green shook his head. "She can't refuse. She isn't even properly trained. She's a servant." "Not anymore," Nassar said softly behind her. The gathering suddenly grew quiet. The arbitrator surveyed them for a long moment. "Nassar, am I to understand that you've released Clan Mailliard from their service?" "Yes," he answered. The arbitrator looked at her. "You're here of your own free will?" "Yes," Grace said. The arbitrator glanced at Roar clansman. "There is your answer. Let the record reflect that Clan Mailliard chose to assist Clan Dreoch. You have our leave to proceed." They passed her. Grace let out her breath. "Thank you," Nassar murmured. "You're welcome." Two young men in Roar's green came to stand at the other end of the street. Both were lean, strong, hard, as if twisted from leather and twine. Both had long hair bound into horse tails: one red, one black. Nassar leaned to her. "Conn and Sylvester Roar. Powerful, but they lack experience." The arbitrators passed between them, blocking her vision. As the blue robes fluttered by, Grace saw Conn Roar turn to her. He grinned, his eyes alight with feral fire, and snapped his teeth. Alarm dashed down her spine in a rush of cold. She raised her eyebrows. "Someone forgot his muzzle." "See the pendant around Conn's neck?" Grace glanced at a small black stone hanging on a long chain. "That's a summoning stone. They'll use its power to manifest creatures." Marrow worms. They'd use it to summon the marrow worms. Nassar had warned her that the Roars would try to kill them. Him, specifically. The game as only the opening salvo to the hostilities between the two clans, and Roars wanted to land the first blow by taking out Dreoch's best magic user. The arbitrators raised their hands. A controlled surge of magic washed over the street. The reality drained down, as if it were a reflection in a melting mirror. A new street opened before them. Green and red lianas hung from the dark, sinister houses. Kudzu vines climbed in and out of windows. To the left a huge clump of yellow foam dripped rancid red juice onto the street. A puddle of brown slime slivered across the asphalt like an amoeba and slipped into the storm drain under the light of street lamps. Ahead something furry dashed across the intersection: a long, shaggy body with too many legs. Somewhere in that zone a flag waited. Whoever touched the flag would be instantly transported out. They just had to survive long enough to reach it. The woman arbitrator raised her hand, fist closed. Next to Grace, Nassar tensed. "Let the game begin!" A white light pulsed from the arbitrator's fingers. The crowd erupted in a ragged cheer. The two Roar clansmen screamed in unison. Flesh bulged under their skin. Their bodies contorted, their limbs thickened. Black fur sheathed

their skin. Horns burst through their manes. Their eyes drowned in golden glow and an extra pair opened beside the first set. As one they raised monstrous faces up, the sharp fangs in their jaws silhouetted against the red sky. Eerie howls tore free from their throats, blending into a haunting song of hunt and murder. The Roars dashed into the zone on all fours. Nassar watched them go, his face calm. Leaping and growling, they turned the corner and vanished behind the abandoned houses. The echoes of their snarls died. Nassar took his axe from its sheath, rested it on his shoulder, and strode into the zone, unhurried. Grace swallowed and followed in his footsteps. The street lay quiet. They would be watched by magical means while in the zone, but for now the press of many stares bore directly into her back. Her nerves knotted into a clump. They've reached the intersection. A hint of movement on the roof of a two-storey house made her turn. Grace frowned. A flat, wide shape leaped off the roof, aiming at her. She caught a glimpse of a fang-studded mouth among bulging veins. Too stunned to move, she simply stared. Nassar's huge back blocked the mouth. A hot whip of magic sprung from his hand, cleaving the creature in two. Twin halves of the beast fell to the ground, spilling steaming guts onto the asphalt. "You're allowed to dodge," Nassar said.

*** The enormous blue beast bore on them. Grace watched it come. It thundered down the street, its six stumpy legs mashing pot holes in the crumbling pavement. In the past seven hours, she'd used her magic for defense countless times. Blood splattered her face, some dried to flecks, some still wet. Her side burned where a red furry serpent had bit her before Nassar chopped off both of its heads. A long rip split her left pant leg, exposing puckered flesh of the calf where a liana stung her with its suckers. It never ended. There was always a new horror waiting to pounce on them from some dark crevice. Grace clenched her teeth and watched the beast charge. It brushed against a house, sending a shower of broken boards in the air, and kept coming, cavernous mouth gaping wide, the sound of its stomping like a canon blast salute at a funeral. Boom-boom-boom.

Keep it together. Keep it steady. Boom-boom-boom. The beast was almost on her. Two bloodshot eyes glared. The black mouth opened, ready to devour her. "Now!" Nassar barked. She slammed her magic into it. With a surprised roar, the beast rammed the invisible barrier. Her feet slid back from the pressure. The beast's momentum pitched it to the side. The mammoth body fell, paws in the air. Nassar leaped over it, a feral shadow caught in the moonlight. White light sliced like a huge blade from his hand and Nassar landed by her. Filthy and bloody, he looked demonic. Behind him the beast lay split open, like a chicken with a cleaved breastbone. Soft, beach-ball-sized sack of its heart palpitated once, twice, and stopped, Grace stared mutely at the carcass. She had never imagined the night could hide things like it, terrible, awful things. She felt like she had aged a lifetime. A soft humming filled her skull. She shook her head. "What is it?" Nassar grasped her face and turned it to him. "Buzzing." He raised his head, listened, and grabbed her hand. "Run!" She'd learned not to ask why. They sprinted, zigzagging through the labyrinthine streets, past overgrown lawns, past an abandoned playground, where small things with round red eyes clutched at the jungle gym with sharp claws, past office buildings, and burst into a park. In the middle of the park lay a pond, bordered by a row of street lamps spilling orange light. The moon slid from the clouds, illuminating the water's surface and the raised concrete basin of a dried fountain in the center. Nassar pulled her into the water and pointed to the fountain. "Go!" She swam through the murky water without thinking. Something soft brushed her legs. She shied and squeezed a frantic burst of speed from her exhausted body. Dizziness came and then her hand hit the concrete base. She pulled herself up. Nassar climbed up next to her, grabbed her by her waist and hoisted her up into the seven foot wide basin. She fell on dried leaves and dirt. The buzzing grew louder, steady and ominous like the hum of a giant engine. An invisible whirlpool of magic built around Nassar. He stood cocooned in its fury, his axe held high. His body trembled under the pressure. The cuts and gashes on his arms reopened and bled. The buzzing swelled like a tidal wave. She saw the axe fall in an arch, its tip prickling the pond. The magic sucked itself into the axe handle and burst through its blade into the water. The pond became preternaturally calm, its surface smooth like glass. The buzzing vanished. Nassar swayed. Grace grabbed his shoulders and pulled him against the lip of the basin, steadying him. His hand squeezed hers. He turned carefully, leaped up, and pulled himself into the basin next to her. A swarm of insects spilled from the street. Green and segmented, like grasshoppers armed with enormous teeth, they were the size of a large cat. They streamed around the water in a mottled mass, bodies upon bodies, packed but none touching the pond. "What are they?" Grace whispered hoarsely. "Akora. The spell keeps them out of the water. As long as nothing disturbs the surface, they can't see or hear us. Don't worry. They can't survive the sun. They'll stay here entranced by the spell until morning." He lay on his back and closed his eyes. Across the water the green insects crawled over the stone benches, perched on lamp posts, and combed the weeds of the once perfectly cut lawn. They had surrounded the pond. Everywhere Grace looked, long segmented legs rubbed, sharp mandibles gnawed on random refuse, and backs split to flutter pale wings. There were too many of them.

She felt so hollow. The seven hours she had spent in this place had consumed her: there was nothing left inside her. "We'll die here," Grace whispered. "No." "They'll eat us, and I'll never see my mother again." What was the point of going on? They'd never make it out. She no longer cared if they would. A warm hand grasped her and pulled her with irresistible strength snug against Nassar's chest. His arms closed about her, shielding her, shocking her cold body with their heat. His cheek rested against her hair. "I won't let you die, Grace," he whispered. "I promise I won't let you die." She lay rigid against his chest, her face in his neck, listening to his strong, even heartbeat. His lips grazed her cheek. "I must be out of my mind," he whispered and his mouth closed on hers. He kissed her, at first gently, then harder, as if he tried to breathe his life into her. She felt numb, but he persisted, his kiss passionate and searing. His arms caged her. His large hard body cradled hers, keeping her from slipping off into the empty deadness. His magic wrapped them both. He kissed her again and again, anchoring her, refusing to let her go. Caught on the threshold between complete numbness and painful awareness, Grace teetered, unsure. He pulled her back to life, back to the desperate reality. She didn't want to face it. A shudder ran through her. She closed her eyes and let him part her lips with his tongue. He drank her in and finally she thawed. She wanted to live, to survive so she could feel this again. She wanted Nassar. Tears wet her cheeks. Nassar released her mouth and crushed her to him. "I want you so much," he whispered, his green eyes looking into the distance. "And I can't have you. I really must be cursed." She lay in his arms for a long time. The coal darkness of the sky faded to pale grey of pre-dawn. Grace stirred. "Why did you do it?" she asked softly. "Why did you become a revenant?" "I was dying," he answered, his voice hoarse. "We had a feud with the Garveys. They cornered my brother, John, and I went to get him. John didn't want to be taken alive. He didn't think help was coming, and he cursed himself and all those around him with a plague of marrow worms. A suicide curse is very potent. I brought him out of the trap, but the curse had caught me. We were both dying and the family could do nothing to keep us alive. I'd lost consciousness. John knew that if I took his body, I'd gain a temporary boost of power to break the curse. He made the family commence the ritual." "He sacrificed himself?" she whispered. "Yes. I remember there was a rush of red, like I was swimming through a sea of blood and drowning, and then I saw this shape floating in the depths. I thought it was my body and I knew if I wanted to survive, I had to get to it. I grabbed it, saw it was John... The pull to live was too strong. I awoke in my brother's body." She put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "I killed my brother so I can live," he said. "It doesn't get any worse than that." She simply held him. A low growl froze both of them. Grace flipped onto her stomach and glanced over the lip of the basin. In the night, the insects had stopped moving. They lay still now, entranced by the spell, their chitin mirroring the grass and weeds around them so closely that if she didn't know they were there, she would've mistook them for heaps of vegetation. A lean muscled creature trotted along the edge of the pond. It gripped the ground with four oversized paws armed with sickle claws. Its serpentine tail lashed its dark pelt spotted with flecks of red and yellow. The beast padded down the shore, dragon-like jaws hanging open showing off fangs the size of her fingers. Foamy spit leaked from between its teeth, staining the long tuft of red and yellow fur hanging from its chin. It halted, sniffed the air, and turned to the basin. Four glowing amber eyes glared at her. "Sylvester Roar," Nassar murmured. Sylvester sniffed the water. His narrow muzzle wrinkled. He looked like he was grinning at them with his monstrous mouth. Nassar growled. "No, you young idiot! Can't you see the spell on the water?" Sylvester snapped his teeth and snarled in a feral glee. An eerie raspy growl came from between his teeth. "I see you, Nassar. You can't

hide from me." "Inexperienced fool." Nassar reached for his axe. "I'm coming, Nassar. I'm coming for you." Sylvester gave a short ragged howl and splashed into the water. Little waves ran over the surface of the pond. Behind Sylvester the akora swarm swelled. Buzzing filled the air. Sylvester turned— Nassar grabbed her and forced her to the floor of the basin, next to him. A hoarse scream sliced through the morning, a terrible howl of a creature in impossible agony being torn to pieces. Grace squeezed her eyes shut. Sylvester screamed and screamed, the buzzing of the akora a morbid choir to his shrieks, until finally he fell silent. Grace lay still, afraid to breathe. Slowly she opened her eyes. An akora perched on the lip of the basin. It sighted her with dead black eyes. Its back split, releasing a pale gauze of wings. Sun broke above horizon. Its rays struck the insect. Tiny cracks split its shiny thorax. The insect shrieked and fled, breaking apart over the water of the pond. Grace rose. All around the pond the insect horde fractured and crumbled under the rays of the sun. The air smelled faintly of smoke. She looked beyond the heaps of melting insects and drew a sharp breath. Past the park, to the right, rose a tall heap of rubble that had been a multi-storied building in its former life. Atop the rubble a small white flag fluttered in the wind. "The flag!' Nassar had already seen it and jumped into the water. Together they swam across the pond. As she waded onto the solid ground, Grace passed a human skeleton, stripped bare of all flesh – all that remained of Sylvester. Nassar moved cautiously along the sidewalk, jogging lightly on his feet, axe at the ready. She followed him, gripping her knife. He wanted her and she wanted him. He'd forged a connection between them she couldn't ignore. The way he had held her, the way he'd touched her made her want to hold on to him. She had no idea what would come of their connection, but her instinct warned her she wouldn't get an opportunity to find out. Thinking of losing him now, before she had a chance to sort it out, terrified her. They reached the rock pile. Nassar paused, measuring the height of the rubble with his gaze. It was almost three floors tall. He glanced at her. She saw the confirmation in his green eyes: it was too easy. He expected a trap. "We go slowly," he said. "We must touch it together." She nodded. They climbed the pile of debris, making their way higher and higher. Soon they were level with the first floor of the neighboring buildings, then

the second. The flag was so close now, she could see the thread weave of its fabric. The cold magic slammed her. Grace screamed. A lean shape burst over the top of the pile - a half-man, half-demon, surrounded by marrow worms, the summoning stone on his chest glowing with white. The beast hit Nassar in the chest. Nassar reeled, the refuse slipped under him, and he plunged down, rolling as he fell, the dark worms swirling over him. Grace ran after them. Below, the beast that was Conn Roar tore at Nassar, all but buried under the black ribbons of worm bodies. She wouldn't get to him in time. Grace jumped. For a moment she was airborne and falling and then her feet hit hard concrete midway down the slope. It gave under the impact, pitching her forward. She fell and rolled down, trying to shield her head with her arms, banging against chunks of stone and wood. Pain kicked her stomach: she'd smashed into a section of a wall. Her head swam. Her eyes watered. Grace gasped and jerked upright. Ten feet away the marrow worms choked Nassar. Magic surged from her in a sharp wave. The blast ripped the worms clear. They fled. Nassar lay on his back, his eyes staring unseeing into the sky. Oh no. She killed the panicked urge to run to him, crouched, and picked up his axe from where it had fallen. Her own knife was gone in her fall. A dark shape launched itself at her from the pile. She whipped about, reacting on instinct. Nightmarish jaws snapped, her power pulsed, and Conn Roar bounced from the shield of her magic, knocked back. His paws barely touched the rubble before he sprung back. This time she was ready and knocked him down again, deliberately. Conn snarled. She backed away toward Nassar's body. "He killed my brother," the demonic beast said. His voice raised the small hairs on her neck. "Let me have Nassar and I'll let you live." "No." "You can't kill me." Conn circled her. He limped, favoring his left front paw, and a long gash split his side, bleeding. Nassar had got a piece of him before he went down. "Of course, I can kill you," she told him, building up her magic. "I'm a Mailliard." She only had one shot at this. If she failed, he'd rip her to pieces. Conn tensed. The muscles in his powerful legs contracted. He leaped at her. She watched his furry body sail through the air, watched his jaws gape in joy when he realized her Barrier wasn't there, and then she sank everything she had into a single devastating pulse. Instead of a wide shield, she squeezed all her power into a narrow blade. It sliced him in two. His body fell, spraying blood. His head flew by her, its four eyes dimming as it spun. She didn't give it a second glance. "Nassar?" She dropped the axe and pulled him up by his giant shoulders, sheltering a weak flutter of magic emanating from him with her own power. He was covered in blood. Her chest hurt as if she'd been stabbed. "Come back to me!" He didn't answer. No! Grace dropped and put her ear to his chest. A heartbeat. Very weak, faltering, but a heartbeat. She wiped a streak of blood from her eyes with her grimy hand so she could see. She couldn't help him. She didn't know how. But his family would. Grace looked at the pile of concrete and rubble, to the very top, where a white flag flailed in the breeze.

*** Nassar leaned against a tree across the street from a brick office building. Grace was inside. He couldn't sense her, not yet, but he knew she was inside. He vividly remembered waking up to the familiar vaulted ceiling. He'd whispered her name and Liza's voice answered, "She's alive. She dragged you out, and I released her and her family, like you wanted." He didn't believe her at first. He knew how much he weighed. No woman could have dragged his dead weight up that heap, but somehow Grace had done it. She left no note. No letter, no message, nothing to indicate that she didn't hate him for dragging her into the horror of the game. He thought of her every day while he lay in his bed waiting for his body to heal. It took a month for him to recover. Three days ago he was finally able to walk. Yesterday he was able to make it down the stairs unassisted. Now, as he leaned against an old oak for support, his left arm still in a sling, he wondered what he would say if she told him to leave. He would say nothing, he decided. He would turn around and go back to the airport and fly back to his life as the cursed revenant of Dreoch Tower. Nobody would ever know what it would cost him. He wanted to hold her, to take her back with him. To have her in his bed, to taste her lips again, and to see the sly smile hidden in her eyes for him alone. The door opened. Three women stepped out, but he saw only one. Grace halted. Nassar held his breath. She took a small step toward him, and then another, and another, and then she was crossing the street, and coming near. He saw nothing except her face. Her magic brushed him. She dropped her bag. Her hands went up to his shoulders. Her brown eyes smiled at him. She kissed him. THE END

About the author: Ilona Andrews is the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team. Ilona is a native-born Russian and Gordon is a

former communications sergeant in the U.S. Army. Contrary to popular belief, Gordon was never an intelligence officer with a license to kill, and Ilona was never the mysterious Russian spy who seduced him. They met in college, in English Composition 101, where Ilona got a better grade. (Gordon is still sore about that.) Gordon and Ilona currently reside in Portland, Oregon with their two children, three dogs and one cat. They have coauthored two series, the bestselling urban fantasy of Kate Daniels and romantic urban fantasy of The Edge. Find out more about Gordon and Ilona at their website: http://www.ilona-andrews.com/

Table of Contents Top PACK IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING GRACE OF SMALL MAGICS